


A Long Awaited Homecoming

by Mercera



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky Adjusts To Living With The Avengers, Bucky Flips Out, Bucky and Steve Move Into Stark Tower, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - Freeform, Everybody Flips Out, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture, With Reason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercera/pseuds/Mercera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Captain America:The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson have located Bucky, and Steve is attempting to integrate him into the team. Bucky seems to be doing much better than anyone expected, but when Steve is kidnapped with no possible leads, Bucky's mental state is revealed, leaving the remaining Avengers and Co. to deal with his meltdowns, all while trying desperately to save Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Home You've Never Known

His heartbeat was the only thing he could hear, the steady rush of blood in his ears drowning out whatever else there was. The in between state he found himself in was fuzzy, like the moments between waking and sleeping, a feeling he had long since forgotten. The disorientation worried him, the unfamiliarity of the feeling making him nervous. It took a moment to remember how to open his eyes, and he only found himself staring at a white tiled ceiling with stark fluorescent lights beaming back at him. Blinking slowly, he tried to move but felt pressure at his arms and legs and could only manage to flop his head tiredly to the side, drips and monitors coming into focus, a steady beeping slowly become decipherable over his heartbeat. A click and a creak caused him to reorient, turning his head to face the other way, a just-shut door framing a man in a white coat.

  
"Ah, I see you are awake now Mr. Rogers. It is a pleasure to have you with us sir. I'm sure we'll be good friends for the duration of your stay."

 

 

*******

 

 

"Hey, you don't like it here and we'll just find a little apartment somewhere. We've talked about this, remember? You feel uncomfortable you talk to me and we'll figure something else out, right?" Steve's smile was almost too genuine to be real, but with what memories he had, James knew it was nothing but sincere. Nodding and swallowing, too nervous to remind Steve that he'd said this a hundred times a day for the past week, James looked up, the metal and glass of the towering building in front of him stretching impossibly high towards the sun. Steve was still watching him, waiting for him to make the first move, he knew, so James made sure his face was neutral and stepped forward towards the automatic doors that led into the gleaming minimalistic lobby of Stark Tower.

 

Steve nearly ran into Bucky as he stopped suddenly just inside the doors, his dark hair still hanging in his face as he slowly swept his eyes back and forth across the room, taking in the reception area and workers milling around, or else the people pooling in front of the elevators, waiting to go up to their offices, dress ranging from starched suits of corporate workers, to lab coats pulled over the t-shirts worn by yawning scientists just coming back from coffee runs after all-nighters in the labs. It was an odd mix to look at, at first, but it was how Stark liked to run things, or Ms. Potts, Steve supposed, and as SI was a multi-billion dollar company then who was he to criticize?

Nervously watching Bucky, Steve waited to see if he would take it in stride and continue or turn and walk out. It was hard to tell with Bucky. No, with James. He had to call him James now. James didn't like being called Bucky, felt it was intruding on the person Bucky used to be. Didn't feel right taking the name of a man he hardly remembered being. Steve was alright with calling him James, it was one of the first things he had opened up about, admitting that he was having difficulty dealing with identifying memories and identity was an ongoing issue. But it was progress, talking about it at all. And Steve would take what he could get.

James seemed to shrug off his momentary pause, glancing back at Steve questioningly, and Steve nodded towards the reception desk, taking the lead and nodding to the secretary stationed there and slipping through the concealed door beside the desk into Tony's private elevator, tugging James gently behind him, not wanting to release his wrist lest he slip back out into the New York crowds. James was quiet on the ride up, but seemed to vibrate a little, with anxiety or excitement Steve couldn't tell, so he offered a grin, receiving a small twitch of a smile in return, the most he could hope to get in return. It was going well so far.

The elevator doors opened and Steve took one step forward before making a choking noise and trying to turn around. Before Steve could block him James slid around him, eyes widening when he saw what Steve had jumped at. He couldn't rightly tell how big the room they had entered was, as everything was draped in red, white, and blue streamers. It was a little dizzying.

"Surprise! It's a welcome home party! Well, a welcome-to-the-home-you've-never-known party."  
James heard Steve sigh heavily in exasperation when a man approached from amid the streamers, decked out in an American flag suit, raising a glass of some sort of bluish party drink in greeting. James tilted his head at the guy, average height and weight but with the presence of a much larger man, a strangely tailored beard adorning his chin. Raising an eyebrow at Steve, James gave him a look.

"This is Tony Stark. He's our... host, I guess," Steve introduced, looking cowed by the decorations. Chuckles came from a corner of the room, where a few other people stood (the other Avengers, Bucky made a mental note), one of them saying "I told you he'd hate you for this" but the man, Tony, pretended not to hear them.

  
“I’m pretty sure, no, I’m positive that we talked about not overdoing this,” Steve spoke through clenched teeth, visibly stiff. Tony cocked his head to the side and waited a pause, then shaking his head.

  
“No luck buttercup, can’t recall any such conversation.”

  
“Oh really? Because I am pretty sure JARVIS must have it recorded. JARVIS?” Steve looked up at the ceiling.

  
“My apologies Captain Rogers, but I would be in direct violation of my coding if I were to provide evidence contradicting Master Stark.” Steve rolled his eyes at the automated British accent, then his gaze caught on how Bucky(James) had stiffened and clenched his jaw at the sound of JARVIS’s disembodied voice. Raising a hand to grab his shoulder, Steve hesitated before softly resting his hand against James’s arm.

  
“Hey, hey it’s fine, that’s just JARVIS, he’s like a computer butler, it’s normal here, I promise it’s fine-“

  
“Yeah. Okay.” Bucky spoke stiffly, but didn’t exactly react otherwise. The others in the room drew closer, watching the newcomer closely, but James gave nothing away. Steve was shifting from one foot to the other, obviously trying to gauge his friend’s mood. Tony, for once, was quiet, realizing that the joke wasn’t being taken well.

  
They were saved from the awkward silence by the ding of the elevator behind them, admitting a familiar face.

  
“Ah. I see you beat me here Captain.”

  
“Agent,” Steve smiled thankfully as Coulson stepped into the room, “Good to see you again. Can I introduce you? This is Bu- uh, James.”  
Coulson extended a hand, which James stared at, but didn’t take.

  
“I thought you said this Coulson guy was dead.” Bucky stated flatly, still staring at the offered hand. Steve spluttered while Coulson rescinded the hand.

  
“I was. For a few seconds, anyways. It was classified. I’m officially alive again. And now that SHEILD isn’t employing me, I’m taking Stark’s money and continuing work with a specialized team. I monitor superhuman threats and assess the urgency of such threats. That’s where the Avengers come in. If you end up consulting with them, we’ll be working together in the future.”

  
James continued to stare impassively, but Coulson just kept the mild expression he was famous for and didn’t seem intimidated. Steve was getting nervous at James’s silence, and decided to get out before something was broken.

  
“Well, as much fun as this party was Tony, I think I’ll just show James our floor. If you don’t mind,” He squeezed around Coulson into the elevator, looking back to see if Bucky was following. After a brief hesitation and one more glance around the room, his eyes pausing on the occupants, Bucky stepped into the lift, the doors closing smoothly behind him.

  
Silence sat heavy with the remaining crowd, before Bruce sighed and took off his glasses to wipe them on his shirt.

  
“I told you the streamers were too much.”

  
“Hey blame Barton for the streamers, I wouldn’t have been able to get them that high!” Tony protested, pointing accusingly. Clint narrowed his eyes and was about to reply when Coulson jumped in.

  
“Did any of you stop to consider that although he was one of the Howling Commandos nearly 90 years ago, he’s been forced to work as a terrorist and thought himself to be a Russian assassin until very recently? Throwing the patriotism in his face isn’t going to endear you to him anymore than it makes Steve roll his eyes at you. It isn’t exactly subtle.”

  
“To be fair sir, origin aside, he was a Russian assassin,” Natasha cut in mildly, deliberately unhelpful.

  
“Yes, thank you Natasha. I think that a little good ol’ America themed welcome party was a perfectly good idea, I can’t be blamed for Bucky’s bad mood.” Tony was smug, looking towards the others for confirmation. Instead Natasha glared at him and Thor avoided eye contact, Clint, surprisingly, being the first to speak up.

  
“I feel like as nice as your ‘party’ idea was, Steve was right in saying that we should keep it low key and not make a big to-do about Bucky coming here. Having your head messed with puts everything out of whack, and he’s had his head messed with a lot.” Natasha put her hand on his arm briefly, before leaving for her own quarters, the rest following her out until only Coulson and Thor remained, Coulson giving Tony the evil eye before dumping some papers for him to sign on the table and making his own exit. Tony raised an eyebrow at Thor.

  
Grinning sheepishly, the thunder god rumbled, “If the others have no wish to further celebrate, I should endeavor to assist you in ridding yourself of all the delightfully blue refreshments you had prepared.”

  
“At least two of us know how to party,” Tony said, as he led the way over to the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far, I plan on updating every couple of days or so, so please comment and let me know what you'd like to see! I have a plot planned out but it is very loose and leaves plenty of room to adjust. Let me know if there is a certain pairing or event or kink or anything that you'd like to see, and I'll work it in if I can. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> ***Also quick note, I am aware that the Bucky/James thing can be confusing, that is intentional, as Steve has trouble separating the two, and let's be honest there are clearly some identity issues going on.


	2. The End of the Line - Wherever That May Be

With a growl ripped from his lungs James lunged forward into the dark, grabbing the hands holding his shoulders down and gripping them with enough force to snap a man's arm, slamming the intruder back onto the floor. Heaving, James held the unresisting attacker, pressing his metal elbow into his throat. The man beneath him didn't move, didn't resist, didn't even gasp in protest or surprise, and it was the silent acceptance that got James to focus in the dark, the familiar features of the man beneath him becoming visible as his eyes adjust.

  
Groaning in frustration, James released Steve and staggered back, his knees buckling as they hit the bed backwards, forcing him to sit. Embarrassed, he dropped his head into his hands, listening to Steve quietly pick himself off and brush off his clothes. It was silent a minute, and in the dark behind his hands James held his breath, petrified. He attacked Steve. Steve. They'd toss him out for sure now. It wasn't the first time it had happened but usually it was a reflex to Steve grabbing his hand, or touching his shoulder when he wasn't looking. He had full on taken Steve down this time, starting to choke him.

  
He hid behind his hands, listening to gauge what Steve would do. The last thing he expected was for Steve to hesitantly rest a hand on his shoulder, and then sit down on the bed beside him. The blonde sighed tiredly, then draped an arm across James's shoulder and rested his head on his shoulder.

  
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, and James jerked away in surprise.

  
"You're sorry? For what? I just fucking flipped you over and tried to break your arm!" James jumped up, moving away from the bed, trying to guess what sort of game Steve was playing. But he just stayed seated, looking so sad and tired that James practically hit himself in the face. This was Steve. Of course he'd blame himself. In his few, fuzzy memories of the man, this was exactly the picture he had painted in his head of Steve.

  
With a shrug, Steve smiled apologetically and said, "I should have known better, but you were talking in your sleep, and you were clearly distressed, I could hear you from the other room. I couldn't-... I couldn't just leave you to that. I know what it's like to be stuck in your head somewhere you don't want to be." At this admission, he looked down, and James relented, sitting back down beside him on the rumpled bed. They were both quiet for a minute, just feeling each other's body heat through their touching shoulders.

  
"I know you were trying to help Steve," James said quietly, "You're with me to the end of the line. Wherever that may be. I know that."  
Steve buried his face in James’s shoulder, and James was suddenly reminded how backwards and messed up their lives were. He may have been working as a Hydra assassin for years, but at least he'd been conscious(kind of) and wasn't as out of his depth as Steve must be, not as far out of his own time. The strongest feelings he got from his furthest memories were those of protection, of looking out for Steve. He had been smaller then. But he was still small, on the inside, still just a kid, and so out of his depth but he was the last one to ever admit it or give in. James slung his arm around the man, so much bigger now than Bucky's memories told him he should be.

  
"You have nightmares too, don't you?" Steve moved back quickly, looking at James's face, wondering how he knew.

  
"You don't talk in your sleep or anything, but your heartbeat races and you wake up very suddenly. You don't even move, your breathing barely changes. But I know. I watch you sometimes," James hesitated, wondering if he should be telling Steve this. At Steve's confused look, he continued. "Sometimes, I can just tell I won't be able to sleep. And I... it helps. Watching you. Bucky remembers you like that, when you guys crashed at each other's apartments, squeezing into the same bed or both of you passing out on the couch. It made him feel better, I think, knowing where you were. He didn't worry about you when he knew where you were."

  
Glancing at Steve, James was dismayed to see that he had wet eyes, and panicked internally, wondering what he had said to bring the man to tears. Shaking his head, Steve took a few breaths before cautiously looking at James out of the corner of his eyes.

  
"I could, I mean, only if it would help you sleep, I could.... stay here? Just for tonight," he added, rushed, "Just to see if it helps. But if you'd rather be alone, I, I get that too. Whatever could help you?" He was hopeful, that much was obvious, and trying very hard not to show it. For such a large man, Steve could look so helpless and it made James's chest ache. Nodding, James scooted back and pulled the covers aside for Steve, smiling weakly as he jumped forward and burrowed himself into James's bed, sneaking a hand out to rest on James's shoulder as they both settled. James barely let himself breathe, nervous at Steve's proximity. He wanted to remember, wanted desperately to remember Steve, and Bucky, as they used to be. Wanted to know what was so great about Bucky that he had earned Steve's loyalty so completely. Steve fell asleep so quickly that James grew jealous, jealous that Bucky was so trusted by this man that even the knowledge that his friend's body had been manipulated and tortured and was completely devoid of anything that had made him Bucky but Steve was so comfortable in his presence despite that. He was jealous of himself. Listening to Steve breathing eventually let James's eyes grow heavy, the warmth at his back lulling him into the first dreamless sleep he'd had in... Nearly as long as he could remember.

 

******************

"WOAH OKAY THEN," Sam loudly exclaimed from the doorway, holding both hands up in a nonthreatening gesture. Confused, Steve raised his head, still half asleep, wondering what Sam was doing in his room. Blinking awake, Steve realized this wasn't his room. Sitting up quickly Steve saw what was going on.

  
"Bucky! Gah, I mean James! Put the gun down! It's just Sam, Sam Wilson, you know Sam, come on please don't shoot him, you've been doing so good, it’s okay, just Sam..."

  
James was staring with wild eyes at Sam, crouched on the bed in front of Steve, blocking Steve from Sam's direct line of sight. As much as the protection warmed Steve's heart, it was a valid concern that James would blow Sam's head off if he moved, a fact that Sam seemed aware of, as he was frozen in the doorway. He must have opened it and startled James awake. Steve frowned, wondering where James had gotten the automatic pistol in the first place. They were exercising a no-weapons-for-the-recovering-assassin regime, an exercise that clearly wasn't going so well. James was still watching Sam, but Steve could see the cogs turning slowly in his head, trying to sort out his thoughts and process ninety years’ worth of convoluted memories to see if he had any of the stranger in the doorway.

  
Slowly, jerkily, James lowered the gun, not taking his eyes off of Sam, and Steve quickly pried the pistol from his hands, taking out the magazine and unloading it, clicking the safety on just in case. Sam lowered his hands and nervously glanced at Steve for an explanation. Steve put a hand on James's shoulder and he finally relaxed back onto the bed, murmuring an apology.

  
"No problem. What kind of morning is it when I'm not threatened by my flat mates, right?" Sam's forced cheerfulness made Steve give his disappointed face, easing out of bed, throwing the blankets back over Bucky, telling him to sleep a little longer, before he followed Sam out the door, making sure to take the gun with him.

  
Daring to let out his breath now that they were in the living area of the floor they shared in Stark Tower, Steve faced Sam, ready to apologize for Bucky, but Sam was already holding up a hand to stop him, anticipating his excuses.

  
"Hey man, I get it. I know, I should have knocked. We should make that a rule, especially for non-common areas. Knock before entering. Let's be honest, this isn't the first time he's tried to shoot one of us after waking him up, I'm beginning to think your boy isn't a morning person." Sam grinned when Steve grumbled about James not being 'his boy'. "What's that? Not your boy? You are kidding me right? I was looking for you and I find you not only in his room, but snuggled up in bed with him. You move fast man, I gotta hand it to you."  
Steve knew Sam was joking but he still slapped away the offered high five, taking the bait.

  
"That isn't how it is and you know it! I would never take advantage, I mean, he isn't in the right frame of mind to consent to anything like, no, you're taking this the wrong way, it wasn't really anything like that, and I just STOP SMILING IT ISN'T FUNNY."

  
"It's kind of funny. You're lucky I'm not going to retell this story to Stark. It helps him sleep, right? And you? Having something familiar next to you?" Steve nodded at this, reminded that Sam worked with PTSD victims and survivors all the time. Sam continued, "If that helps then by all means keep it up. I agree that he isn't of any mind to consent to anything, so keep it G rated, alright?"

  
Steve huffed at him, moving into the kitchenette area to make coffee. Sam just laughed at him and followed, becoming more serious now.

  
"Honestly though, it worries me. It may help him fall asleep but what about when he wakes up? What if, even for a minute, he doesn't remember you and gets a hold of another gun and decides to blow out the brains of the stranger lying next to him? You can heal from a lot but that would kill even you. On top of that, how do you think he'd feel when he does remember you, and realize that the only person he trusts in this century is dead because he couldn't keep his shit together? You are the only person who can really manage him, the only guy who can keep him in check. He may tolerate me more than, I don't know, the Avengers, or those therapists you tried, but in no way is he opening up to me the way he does to you. If something happens to you then he is going to go right back to where he was when we found him. So just... be aware of that. For my sake, at least."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback, and thank you to all of you who left Kudos! I'm sorry to be like this, but even if you don't normally comment I would really appreciate any advice or suggestions, maybe you could try to guess what is going to happen next, or point out any typos or places where the text is unclear? This is my first fic on this site and I'd really love some response. Thanks! Next chapter will be up in 1-2 days.


	3. You're No Psychopath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay this isn't a full chapter but I think it is a good setup for the next one, I lied about it taking two days until I posted again, I am writing faster than I anticipated. Sue me.

James and Steve were in the gym, working out. Or, Steve was working out while James alternated between watching and staring at the wall. After the first mishap, it had been agreed that having James punch and kick at inanimate objects was a ‘bad idea’, as his mind had trouble identifying them as inanimate objects and quickly put him into attack mode where he began punching and kicking decidedly more animate objects (see: Steve and Sam). But where Steve went, James went.

  
“It’s been a week and I haven’t seen James go anywhere other than his own room without Steve. I haven’t even had a conversation with the guy,” Tony huffed, watching the camera feed from the gym in his lab. Bruce hummed mildly behind him, clearly ignoring him in favor of reading the latest test results. Both of them jumped, however, when another voice joined the conversation, neither of them having heard anyone enter, JARVIS not having mentioned anything.

  
“There’s a reason no one has left you alone with James. You’re more likely to set him off than anyone else,” Natasha was leaning against a lab table right next to them. Bruce had scrunched his eyes shut and Tony theatrically clutched his heart.

  
“Security breach!” He protested, glaring accusingly at the ceiling, blaming JARVIS. Natasha ignored him.

  
“I don’t think that you’ve really understood that when everyone calls him unstable, they mean that he’s unstable. I’ve tried talking to him, but Steve took me aside and gave a list of things I can’t mention to him. It included everything I had wanted to ask. Talking to him about much more than the weather or what’s for dinner is risky for anyone who isn’t Steve.”

  
“I wasn’t planning on prying into his personal life,” Tony protested weakly, Natasha giving him an unimpressed stare before he even finished his sentence.

  
“Yesterday you wanted to try detaching his arm remotely through JARVIS while he was napping to see if he’d notice. The day before you were telling anyone in hearing distance that you wanted to pick his brains on Russian weapons engineering.”

  
“Okay, yes, maybe I could have worded a few things better, but I’m not intentionally trying to make him kill me.”

  
Natasha and Bruce shared a look, Tony pouting and turning, pressing buttons and playing with his hologram.

  
“Tony is right though. At least, he has a point. Bucky, er, James, isn’t really adjusting much to living here if he’s just moving back and forth from Steve’s floor to the gym. Maybe some human interaction outside of Steve and Sam would be good for him? I’m no therapist, but he seems to be living almost exclusively in his head, and with his particular past? His memories? That can’t be healthy.” Bruce offered this without even glancing up, but Tony beamed anyways at the admission that he was right. Natasha was quiet and contemplative for a moment (Tony found her most frightening like this, but he’d never admit it), before nodding slowly.

  
“I’ll mention it to Steve. Maybe a team dinner or something, we’d keep it small, and brief everyone on James’s condition beforehand. Steve is a good anchor for him, but he’s also the only person James has good memories of. New people might just be good for him.”

 

 

This was a terrible idea. Taking James to a team dinner should definitely be classified as a ‘bad idea’. He was good enough with just Steve and Sam, but there were only two of them, and even when James forgot who they were, he didn’t freak out too much because the Winter Soldier was positive he could take out two people to defend himself. That was the way James explained it, anyways. Having James around anyone else was risky, he hadn’t spoken for three hours after Natasha had just stopped by to say hello. Who knew what he’d be like with the whole team?

  
Granted, some days were much better than others, and so far this had been a good day. And so Steve agreed to the terrible idea.  
He wrung his hands and paced outside of James’s bathroom for the hundredth time, finally hearing the shower turn off. When James opened the door with a towel slung around his waist, Steve froze, as he always did, when he caught sight of the scars where his metal arm connected to his torso. They were extensive, and deep, and they were from the fall from the train. James caught him looking and winked jokingly, causing Steve to blush and turn while James went to get dressed. At least James was in a good mood.

  
“So, just to remind you, it’s just the team, no one else is going to be there, just the team and Sam and you and me, alright? And you know that we can-”

  
“-Leave whenever I want, no pressure, if someone talks about something I don’t like I should tell them, blah, blah, blah. I know Steve; you’ve said it ten times today. It’s the only thing they’ve asked of me and they’re letting me stay in their home, fully aware that I’m a trigger-happy psychopath. It’s the least I can do,” James mumbled the last bit, riffling through some drawers for a t-shirt. Steve was glad he was turned around so he didn’t see Steve’s expression. It broke his heart hearing how self-aware James was of his issues. It was better than ignorance, but they usually avoided talking so blatantly about it.

  
“You’re no psychopath. The Winter Soldier may have been, but not by choice. Bucky Barnes never was though, and whoever you choose to be doesn’t have to be, either,” Steve spoke softly, reminding James, as he did everyday, that they’d figure it out. James turned and smiled sadly, before mockingly ruining the mood.

  
“You’re going to make me cry, you’re such a sweetheart.”

  
Steve retaliated by punching him in the arm, but regretted it when his knuckles smacked against metal. You’d think he’d learn by now. James laughed it off and moved to the closet, evaluating the growing collection of zippered hoodies he had collected. Steve didn’t see the appeal himself, he thought they looked like workout clothes, but if James was comfortable in them then he couldn’t care less. James shrugged into a loose black one, grinning when he caught Steve’s look at the hoodies.

  
“Just because you still dress like an old man…”

  
“Oh shut up. We’re going to be late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is mostly setup for the next chapter, which will be posted at some point tomorrow. Thank you to all who have read, especially to liangmin for her comments! Please let me know what you like to see more of, also, I want to do a flashback scene in a few chapters, but don't know if it should be to Steve and Bucky's childhood in the 40's, or to their experiences in the war. Let me know if anyone has preferences. Thanks for reading!


	4. Steve, There Are Magnets On My Arm

Steve and Sam sat on either of side of James, but the way they were angled made it seem like they were trying more to keep the others away from James, rather than the other way around. That's how it seemed to Tony, at least, who had seated himself directly across from the man in question, watching him watch the table. The soldier had his stringy hair pulled back, studiously ignoring Tony. Natasha had chosen to sit at the head of the table, and no one was about to challenge her for it. Bruce had been suckered into sitting next to Tony, but was typing on a tablet under the table.

Clint and Thor could be heard banging around in the kitchen in the next room, trying to transfer everything out of the takeout boxes and into dishes, giving the whole thing a falsely homemade feel. James was the first to break the thick silence at the dining table, clearing his throat.

"What are we having for diner, exactly?" He didn't sound truly interested, and didn't look up, but Tony cocked his head.

"We ordered in Thai food. You probably haven't tried it before, it's like-"

"I've had it. Steve and I went out to Thai last week." James nodded, finally lifting his head to look at Steve for confirmation, receiving a warm smile in reply.

Tony just huffed. So much for presenting a new experience. Sam had gathered everyone before Steve and James had come up, listing specific triggers they knew to set James off, certain topics that could lead James into a memory lapse. The best part of it was, there was no telling what could set him off. And there was always the chance that he’d be perfectly fine and could talk openly about his past experiences with no flashbacks or panic attacks or lapses in memory. But there was just no telling. Tony had no choice but to test that.

“Would a fridge magnet stick to your prosthetic?” Tony’s blatant question made Steve jump a bit in his seat and he spun to stare at James, trying to gauge how he’d take it. Sam glared across the table at Tony. We literally just talked about this, his expression said. James had frozen, not in some kind of flashback but rather confusion, as if he didn’t know how to react to Tony being so forward, used to people walking around him on eggshells.

“Um, probably? It’s made of metal, so yeah. I wouldn’t call it a prosthetic though.” James seemed as confused by his own answer as he was by the original question. Not missing a beat, Tony whipped some magnets out of his jacket, leaning across the table and sticking them to the outside of James’s sweatshirt, the magnets, sure enough, clinging to the metal arm underneath. Steve sighed at the Avenger’s themed magnets, a rubber version of the Iron Man mask and the Captain America shield. Tony hummed in appreciation, and Bruce sighed heavily next to him.

James shifted around, turning his arm so he could see the magnets. The faintest smile touched his lips, before he shrugged and looked towards the kitchen, where Clint and Thor were entering, laden with food. They set the dishes down on the table before taking their seats, Steve cringing when Thor greeted James (“Hello Soldier of Winter, it is good to see that you have yet to slaughter any in the tower”), but once again James surprised him by smiling faintly, as though unsure whether to be amused or offended.

Steve seemed to be the only one still nervous about the outcome of this dinner, as Sam had relaxed after realizing that James wouldn’t flip out at Tony being an ass, digging into the plate in front of him. Chatter broke out as everyone loaded their plates, all of them generously offering James a bit of everything. Thor offered everything at least twice, and James seemed truly fascinated by the way Thor spoke. Steve felt his heart twinge a bit, thinking about how the old Bucky would have liked Thor as well. But the new Bucky was doing all right.

Natasha and Clint were trying to convince Thor to spar with them, and he was fumblingly trying to politely refuse, as the assassins had wiped the floor with him (and his pride) the last time this had occurred. Tony quizzed Bruce about his latest test results, and Sam was making small talk with James, explained what spices went in the different dishes. It was… going well, to Steve’s great confusion. He tensed up whenever Tony spoke to James, always asking something borderline triggering, but if James froze up it was more because he wasn’t sure how to react to the man, rather than a flashback. It was bizarre to watch.

As was always the case when they were in the room together, it wasn’t long before Tony started taking digs at Steve.  
“Pass the salt, Gramps” and “Lighten up boy scout”. James seemed genuinely off put by how Tony was speaking to Steve, until he figured out that Tony was joking, heavy sarcasm his default mode. Steve was probably the only one who could hear it, but James chuckled softly whenever Tony came up with some new, slightly insulting, nickname or other, and Steve was so grateful to hear him enjoying himself that he didn’t retaliate. Much.

“If there’s anything left over from this we’ll let you take it to your floor, old man, just remind me to explain how a microwave works.” Tony wasn’t even looking at him anymore, just shoveling something into his mouth while tapping at a tablet he had resting on the table. Rolling his eyes, Steve replied.

“What a generous young man you are, what would I do with all this newfangled technology without a nice whippersnapper like you to explain it all to me.” Tony choked, and Clint laughed at him. He sputtered and grabbed for water while Sam and Steve stared at James in unconcealed amazement, who was outright laughing, deep and raspy, like Steve remembered it.

“He does realize that you’re like, in your twenties, right?” James turned to Steve, who was still grinning at James, shook his head. Tony huffed.

“Twenties, my ass, you realize that you’re both like ninety, right?”

“Technically we haven’t been conscious that long, Steve has had a bunch of beauty rest and a sea salt scrub to keep him young. I have the joys of cryogenic sleep to thank for my own looks.” James smirked, and Tony was speechless for a second. Clint and Thor were both laughing now, and Bruce was purposefully looking at the table, though Steve could see he was repressing a smile.

“You grew up in the thirties and forties, this in the twenty first century, and that makes you both ancient,” Tony continued to argue. Steve and James shared a long-suffering look, and Steve was almost ecstatic. It was like Bucky was back.

“Well he’s got us there, Steve.”

“It seems he does, eh James?”

“I guess we’d better put our orders for our coffins in now, while we’re still young. I’ll leave the arm to you in my will,” James offered Tony. Even Natasha was smiling now, and Sam was grinning ear to ear at how well James was doing. Tony could hardly get another word in edgewise the rest of the evening, all of them lingering long after the food was gone and making fun of each other. James and Clint were calling each other ‘grandpa’ and ‘squirt’ by the end of it, Natasha was getting along great with James (they kept comparing gun models and knives, which Steve felt was distinctly poor table conversation but he wasn’t about to stop them either) and Bruce had gotten James to agree to come into the lab and let him scan the metal arm.

It was nearly midnight when Steve sensed James was slowing down, tired from the extensive socializing. Not wanting to push it more than they already had, Steve made them say their goodnights and headed down to his floor in the elevator, James humming tunelessly next to him. Sam was staying up to teach Thor poker, so James and Steve were on their own for the night.

James was exhausted, leaning on Steve as they made their way into the apartment, and Steve was just silently enjoying it while he could, this closeness that he had shared so easily with the old Bucky but James always seemed so wary of. James’s eyes were drooping and Steve just pushed him until he was sitting down on the bed. James watched as Steve tugged his shoes off, only moving when Steve ordered him to get ready for bed. He was tugging on sweatpants when he heard James chuckle, turning to see him plucking the magnets off his arm, having forgotten they were there. James left the room for a minute and Steve paused, listening with his super soldier hearing as James padded barefoot into the kitchenette, hearing the distinct ping of magnets sticking to the refrigerator. James come back and tossed of his hoodie, shimmying down to boxer shorts before giving up and curling under the covers.

Steve paused next to the bed, unsure if he would be welcome tonight, but James just grunted and flipped the covers back without opening his eyes, leaving room for Steve to clamber in. Grinning, he did so, pulling James up against his chest, wrapping his arm under James’s metal one, and pushing his nose into the dark hair in front of him.

“You did so good tonight. You were great. You did so well,” Steve whispered to him, proud. James just hummed in response, drifting off. Steve couldn’t help but hope that this was a sign of sudden improvement, and that he’d continue to only get better from here on out.

 

James had the worst nightmares that night than he’d had in weeks, waking screaming and clawing every time. Steve didn’t dare sleep, just clung to him in the few quiet moments, wondering if human interaction, the team dinner, hadn’t hurt him more than they could have anticipated. And the worst part was? James was back to where he’d been when Steve and Sam had just found him in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all of you for reading, I really appreciate the Kudos and comments you have left, I didn't anticipate this! Currently my beta is spellcheck, so if anyone would like to beta this work could you please let me know? Someone with experience with this website, because I don't really know the site that well and don't know what is going on. Let me know! And next chapter will be up anytime from a few hours or two days, there is no telling, I'm just posting as I write. Someone stop me.


	5. A Game of Operation

 

 

            “I can’t keep doing this,” Steve’s head was heavy, resting in his hands. Sam rested a hand on his back. “It’s like, he was doing so well, having more and more good days, and now he’s just…”

 

            “As bad as he’s ever been. Why don’t you try and get some sleep while he’s calm right now, I’ll keep an eye on him. I know you’ve been sleeping even less than he has,” Sam patted his back once, nudging him to make him get up, pushing him back towards his bedroom. It was a sign of how frustrated and tired Steve was that he didn’t protest.

 

            Watching to make sure Steve went to his room, Sam ran a hand over his eyes, just as exhausted as the other two, but without the super soldier serum to help him. It had been nearly a week since the dinner with the team, and James never slept more than an hour without wrenching himself out of bed shouting. They had JARVIS making sure there were no guns in the vicinity, and had restricted James’s access to Steve’s floor only. They had already gotten rid of kitchen knives, but Sam had no doubt that James could just as easily murder them with his bare hands.

 

            The man in question was currently sitting stiffly on the couch in the other room, eyes closed, facing the wall, whispering in Russian under his breath. Sam just sat himself down across from him and waited. Half an hour passed before James went quiet, opening his eyes. The two watched each other for a minute, before James looked down, breaking eye contact.

 

            “Where were you this time?” Sam spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

 

            “Cold War. This century thinks that there wasn’t any real fighting. I was right in the middle of the fighting.” He spoke with a monotone, not looking up. Sam nodded, not wanting to push. Cold War years were bad years, but he seemed to be more present than he had been an hour or two ago, when he had been taking swings at Sam, cursing him out in another language while Steve restrained him.

           

            “Steve?” James’s throat was raw, his voice barely more than a whisper.

 

            “I sent him to get some sleep while he could, he’s just in the other room, if you need him?” James shook his head, so Sam continued, “Are you feeling up to eating anything today? I can make pancakes or something, what do you want?”

 

            “Pancakes are fine.”

 

            Sam didn’t really want to leave him alone, but thankfully James got up to follow him into the kitchen, watching him start to bang pans and get out quick mix. He seemed to become more aware as time went on, coming out of his… whatever they were. Sam was no expert. He worked with veterans, but James wasn’t quite in that league. At least he was responding to questions with nods or shakes of his head, eating slowly but eating all the same, not flinching when Sam pulled up a chair next to him and dug into his own plate.

 

            It was awful to watch James go through this; Sam thought he was an all right guy when he wasn’t freaking out, but honestly? He was more worried about Steve. Steve took everything onto his own shoulders, took James’s relapse as a personal failure. Blamed himself entirely for everything that had happened to his oldest friend. And it couldn’t be healthy. Hell, none of this was _healthy_ , let alone _normal_ , and James’s case was so far out of any norm that they could possibly compare it to that they didn’t have anything to go off of. Sam doubted that he would ever recover completely, and at this rate he wondered if James would ever be fully functioning.

 

            James couldn’t be taken to a therapist, he was at least familiar with Steve, and somewhat so with Sam, but complete strangers he was likely to strangle them, especially if they pried into his thoughts. So professionals, anyone who might possibly know what they’re doing, were out of the picture. And James didn’t cooperate anyways, didn’t want to revisit his memories, didn’t want to hash out his old grievances. Privately, Sam agreed. James seemed to do best when he avoided his past entirely, interacted in the present and connected with people in the here and now. Sam knew that Tony and JARVIS were trying to hack into Hydra’s old files, trying to find information that wasn’t already destroyed, to try and figure out what exactly had been done to him, and they were looking as a personal favor to Steve, but no one dared tell James they were doing it. There was no telling how he’d take it.

 

            The next two hours were like a game of operation, wanted to get somewhere but terrified of making the buzzer go off. Sam tiptoed around, trying to help James but at a loss of what to do. Steve came out to check on how James was doing and managed to coax him to bed, promising that he wouldn’t let him hurt anyone. Steve and Sam avoided each other’s eyes when Steve promised this, both of them uncomfortable that it was something they had to promise, but it was just about the only thing they could do to get James to rest.

 

            Exhausted as the other two, Sam went to his own room to crash, and Steve nervously followed James, who once again threw back the covers, silently leaving an invitation for Steve, if he wanted to take it. Relieved that his friend was improving at least to the point where he was comfortable with this, Steve wedged himself at James’s back, the warmth of another body easing them both to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a room far away, two pairs of eyes watched the soldiers cling to each other in their restless sleeps. The monitor the soldiers were displayed on was just one of many, all of them glowing pale green and sickly in the dark room. One of the men in the room lit a cigarette, the brief flash of a lighter illuminating his sallow face and crooked nose.

 

“It is no use,” the man spoke to his companion, his heavy accent warbling his words, “With ze other one there, e’ is too… too aware. So worried for ze dark one that e’ won’t come out, won’t be found alone. Ze plan is going to haf to be pushed back, very far back.”

 

The other man, his eyes not leaving the screen, face still cast in shadow, merely grunted, untroubled by this.

 

“Then we’ll just have to get him to come out and play then, won’t we now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've fixed the problem where all the paragraphs are plastered together, if you guys see anything else or are having issues with that again please let me know. Thanks for your continued support!
> 
>  
> 
> **** ALSO, I know that until this chapter I hadn't really mentioned much of what was promised in the summary, but please know that it IS coming, I just really wanted to establish everything solidly before jumping into that, because things are going to move really quickly and hectically once it starts. So just, be aware of that.


	6. "But you gotta call me Bucky, then"

             Steve’s phone buzzed, and he shot up in bed, disrupting James as well, but luckily all James did was grunt and roll the other way. Scrambling for his phone, Steve grabbed for it and had to try three times before he swiped it correctly to answer.

 

            “What?” He answered, his voice still raspy from sleep.

 

            “We have an issue,” Tony’s voice was serious on the other end of the line. Shaking himself awake, Steve slipped out of bed and left the room, easing the door closed behind him so his talking wouldn’t wake James.

 

            “What kind of issue? What do you mean?” He blinked the tiredness out of his eyes, wondering what the hell was going on.

 

            “The Avengers are being called in to California, there’s some sort of emergency over there that the military isn’t equipped to deal with,” Tony said it all in the same breath, then answered Steve’s question before he could ask it, “We didn’t let the alarm blare on your floor because we didn’t know how James would take it. Your choice as to whether you wake him up or not, but wheels are up in five minutes. Bring the Falcon, Rhodey and the War Machine are going to meet us there.”

 

            Steve quietly agreed to be up at the quinjet in five, then stood still for another moment, rubbing a hand over his face, before knocking on Sam’s door, letting him know what was going on, and going to his own room to grab his uniform. On his way to the elevator he paused by James’s door, peeking in, the room still dark and calm, becoming more familiar to him than his own, considering the amount of nights he ended up sleeping in there. James hadn’t moved, for once enjoying a dreamless sleep.

 

            Steve bit his lip; debating on whether to wake him up to let them know they were going. Chances were they’d be back within twenty-four hours, and James might be mad at him for leaving without telling him. But chances were equally as likely that James would demand to come and fight with them, and Steve couldn’t let him do that yet. Maybe someday, but he wasn’t stable enough yet. Sam cleared his throat behind Steve, tapping his wrist in imitation of tapping a watch to let him know they needed to go. Steve shut the door quietly, taking one last glance at the sleeping soldier, his metal arm glinting dully in the light coming from the doorway.

 

            As the elevator shot up, Steve asked JARVIS to keep James on his floor, and to let him know where they’d all gone when he woke up. They strapped into the quinjet, Sam storing his Falcon gear and exchanging thumbs up with Clint, who was piloting. Thor stood at the open cargo door, Natasha seated close behind him, and they took off as Tony blasted beside them, all of them watching Stark Tower get smaller and smaller until it was gone.

 

 

 

 

He heard the sounds of a scuffle and ran, knowing exactly what he’d find. Skidding, barefoot, he turned down a dirty redbrick alley to see the two Roberts boys looming over little Steve Rogers, who glared up at them as though they didn’t have him bloodied and on the ground.

 

            “Hey, Roberts!” The two spun, then glared at him.

 

            “Stay out of this Barnes, this punk ain’t worth ‘yur time,” the taller one snarled, aiming him shoed foot at Steve’s leg. The skinny little thing, supposedly nine to Bucky’s eight, looked about six, tiny and blond and the furthest thing from a fighter, but he acted like a real scrapper, and wouldn’t back down from anything. Bucky stepped forwards.

 

            “Come on now boys, your momma’s not gonna like it if you go home with broken noses again, now,” Bucky threatened, not looking away from Steve, who was avoiding his gaze and wiping blood from his lip. The bigger boys took a step back.

 

            “Guess you ain’t very smart Barnes, but if you could count you’d know that there’s two of us,” the older one retorted, but he didn’t sound as confident as he should have for a kid with nearly twenty pounds on Bucky.

 

            “I have Steve to be smart, I’m just a pair of fists, now run on boys, I’m getting real tired of this talking,” Bucky drawled and he could see the look they exchanged before racing each other to the far end of the alley, scrambling to get away. Once he was sure they weren’t coming back, he offered a hand to Steve, who ignored him and pulled himself up, drawing himself up to his full height, which still only brought the top of his head up to about Bucky’s eye level.

 

            “I didn’t need your help Barnes,” the blond spat, like a pissy cat. Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

            “You’ll thank me someday Rogers, or else you’ll learn to stay out of fights.” Steve glared at him for this, brushing dirt off his ragged trousers, mumbling about how he’d had it handled. Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

            “Your momma asks you to watch out for me, doesn’t she,” Steve was quiet, not meeting Bucky’s eyes.

 

            “Uh, yeah? How’d you figure?” Bucky had never told him. Steve didn’t answer, just squinted up at him, smiling shyly.

 

            “’Cause you don’t seem to like me that much yourself,” he grinned, cheeky, and Bucky mocked being wounded.

 

            “Now why’d you say something like that, kid? Huh? Maybe I love you, you’re hurting my feelings here Stevie,” Bucky grinned when Steve punched his arm, grimacing.

 

            “You don’t have feelings Barnes, I’m pretty sure of it. I can’t ask you to ignore your momma though, so I guess I’ve got myself a bodyguard. Though I can handle myself,” he added, drawing himself to his not-very-impressive full height. Bucky laughed.

 

            “Bodyguard? Sure, I can do that. But you gotta call me Bucky then.”

 

            “Alright Bucky. I’m Steve,” he offered his hand, serious for a kid.

 

            “I know who you are,” but he shook the hand anyways, smiling at the little scrapper.

 

 

 

 

 

James shot up in bed, gasping. He hadn’t had that dream before. A memory? He turned to ask Steve, but the bed was empty, which was unusual. He almost always woke if Steve got up, and so he wandered out into the apartment, but no one was there.

 

            “Steve? Where’d you go? Sam?” He looked around him, as if they’d be hiding.

 

            “My apologies, Mister Barnes,” JARVIS came from the ceiling, and James barely flinched this time, slowly becoming accustomed to the AI, “But Mister Rogers and Mister Wilson have been called out with the other Avengers to an emergency in Northern California. They appear to be nearly finished though, and Mister Rogers asked me to inform you that he would call as soon as everything was finished and they were on their way back. Do you require anything in the meantime, Mister Barnes?”

 

            He shook his head, gone quiet. Steve had left him, and Sam had left too. He’d known he’d been a lot to deal with lately, but maybe it had been too much for them to take…? No, no Steve wouldn’t give up on him. Never. He’d be there, right to the end of the line. There was an Avengers thing, in Northern California, apparently. He’d be back, as soon as they were done. James sat himself on the couch, not really planning on moving until Steve got back. He’d ask Steve about the dream when he called. Steve would be really excited, he knew, would hope that maybe more of Bucky’s memories would start to come back, instead of just the Winter Soldier’s. So James would wait for Steve. He’d always wait for Steve, because Steve would always wait for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh, we're about to get into the thick of it. I am really excited to see how you guys like the next couple of chapters, let me know what you think please!
> 
> ***ALSO, I have decided to post this on fanfiction.com as well, under the same title but under username yellowspraypaintedsmiles, and this is only because, in my experience, people comment a bit more on that site than on this one and I'm really looking for some feedback


	7. Even for a Supersoldier

Hours passed. After the first one, James grew nervous. JARVIS had said that they'd been finishing up in California, Steve could have called by now. Two hours passed, and then three, and James gnawed the fingernails on his human hand down to the nub. Steve should have called by now.

Four hours passed, and then JARVIS spoke again, informing James that the Avengers were on their way back to the Tower, and James heaved a sigh of relief. They were coming back. Steve must have just forgotten to call, now that they were on the jet and headed home Steve would call. But another hour passed. James knew, somehow, that Steve would have called, if he were able. Something was wrong. He grew stiller and stiller, unmoving, his breathing shallow. He was barely avoiding full on hyperventilation, panic at the unknown. Steve could be seriously injured, and it had to be nearly deadly to keep him from contacting James. Although James was often unsure of Steve, his memories twisted and dusty, Steve's loyalty was unwavering and unstoppable, so what the hell had happened that was so bad that he couldn't just call James.

James didn't track how long passed before JARVIS informed him that the quinjet was landing on the roof, letting him know that his access had been extended to the common floor if he wanted to meet the others up there. James didn't respond, just closed his eyes and focused on breathing, as he had for God knew how long now.

More time passed, and he heard the elevator doors open with a quiet hush behind him. He didn't turn. When he finally opened his eyes, it was to Tony, kneeling in front of him, putting himself eye to eye with James hunched figure on the couch. James could see Barton, the archer, standing a ways behind Tony, Thor just next to him. Tony's eyes were dark, and unreadable.

"Is he dead?" James's voice was barely audible, his throat so dry he couldn't swallow. Tony shook his head and James nearly cried in relief. But then he noticed that Tony didn't look any happier.

"I- Now James, I need you to stay calm, okay? Can you try to stay calm for us? Because it won't help anyone if you freak out and snap my neck, alright?" James just stared at him. How bad was it? What the hell could have possibly happened? Tony was clearly getting nervous at his prolonged silence, and James glanced up at the other two in the room. Of course they brought the demigod with them, who else could restrain him if he lost it? James would bet money that the archer was armed with some sort of sedative.That's why they'd taken so long getting down here, they'd had to plan out how to contain him.

"Where. Is. Steve." James could barely get the words out. Tony looked down, took a breath, and then looked James straight in the eyes.

"We don't know," his voice was a whisper, "After the battle, we had taken the main force of robots down, Steve was just chasing down some straglers, and his comm... his comm just went dead. Hulk and I got there as fast as we could, but there was just... He was just gone. No robots, no Steve, his sheild was the only thing left. The robots were just a diversion. Someone wanted Steve, and they had it planned down to a T. We're doing everything we can to find him, JARVIS is searching for all likely suspects with the resources to do something like this, Sam is working with our military contacts now, or else he'd be here. But right now? We have nothing." James let his eyes go out of focus. He focused on breathing. Quiet whisper in, soft rush out. Pause. Quiet whisper in, soft rush out. Pause. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Don't look at them, don't look at the others. They aren't the mission, James told himself. They don't need removal. The mission is Steve, the mission is to find Steve, find him and then never let him out of his sight again.

One last breath and a brief moment of closing his eyes as tight as he could, before he stared Tony down.

"What do you need?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His heartbeat was the only thing he could hear, the steady rush of blood in his ears drowning out whatever else there was. The in between state he found himself in was fuzzy, like the moments between waking and sleeping, a feeling he had long since forgotten. The disorientation worried him, the unfamiliarity made him nervous. It took a moment to remember how to open him eyes, and he only found himself staring at a white tiled ceiling with stark flourescent lights beaming back at him.

Blinking slowly, he tried to move but felt pressure at his arms and legs and could only manage to flop his head tiredly to the side, drips and monitors coming into focus, a steady beeping slowly becoming decipherable over his heartbeat. A click and a creak caused him to reorient, turning his head to face the other way, a just-shut door framing a man in a white coat.

"Ah, I see you are awake now Mr. Rogers. It is a pleasure to have you with us, sir. I'm sure w'e'll be good friends for the duration of your stay."

"Hmmmaaahhhhggg," Steve could barely groan, his limbs feeling thick and his mouth dry and cottoned. The man approached him, checking the screens displayed around him, taking a clipboard from beside his bed and making a tsking sound. "Now now Mr.Rogers, fighting the sedative will do you no good," the man drawled, ignoring Steve's weak struggles,

"We've had decades to test this and more on a supersoldier, we are quiet sure it is working on you." Steve froze. Decades testing on a supersoldier? There were no other... Bucky. These were the men who had Bucky for all those years. They'd experimented on him, warped his mind and twisted his thoughts until he couldn't sleep a night without waking. These were the ones who had broken his friend. The beeping suddenly sped up, and something else began a weak whining noise, and the man shot a glance down at Steve, looking confused.

"Ah, I would not do that if I were you. They will up the dosage if you do, and then the side effects will become more prominent..." The man trailed off as the beeping became louder. Two more men in coats entered the room, carrying equipment, taking out syringes and shooting them into IV lines, and then stabbing others directly into Steve's arms. His vision grew darker, but he felt a restraint on one armc creak, starting to give way. The scientists around hims started speaking rapidfire, in some language Steve wasn't familiar with, tapping furiously at the monitors and checking the lines Steve had stuck to his veins. It grew darker and he couldn't see, his limbs grew heavier, and harder to move, his hearing going out again so he could only hear his own panicked breathing, but he knew they were there, knew what they'd done to James, to Bucky. Knew he owed it to them to ruin them. But it grew too dark, and everything grew too heavy, even for a supersoldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you guys think, won't be long until the next chapter! Also, I am being forced to post this from my phone so if there are some huge mistakes or if something is otherwise wrong pleass let me know and I will try to fix it as soon as I am able.


	8. They Have Him Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone is aware, I know the tags state "torture", but I don't mean the kind where they're pulling fingernails to get information. It isn't going to be that kind of torture. In case anyone could be triggered, please note that this and the next chapter will contain non-consensual medical procedures, some of which will be described as extremely painful and invasive. Bucky/James will have a panic attack and subsequent flashback. I feel like I should put possible trigger warnings on every chapter. Let me know if you'd prefer warnings or not, it would help me a lot, thanks. ow, on with the story...

 

 

"I know who has him," James repeated one more time, quietly. Tony sighed again and rubbed his face. Clint, surprising, was best with James, who had been shouting for about an hour now that he knew who had Steve, but then he'd refuse to tell them. Tony and Bruce had written it off as stress, ignoring him in favor of scanning databases around the world. Romanov and Wilson were still in California, working at the scene with specialists and the military both to wrap up the fight and attempt to follow Steve from the source. Tony had no such hope that they'd be successful there. The way Steve had been taken had been too quiet, too clean. Whoever it was wouldn't have left clues. They had to start digging.

 

"I swear, I swear I know."

"It's okay, I believe you. I bet you know, it's okay, just breathe with me, okay? Just breathe," Clint was grasping one of James's hands, having finally calmed him enough to get the spastic soldier to sit on the grease stained couch Tony had in his workshop. They had all gathered here, those of them who had returned to the tower. Coulson was sending them any and all information gleaned from the team in California, and they processed it here, where JARVIS could run full analysis and they had started to pull through government archives, trusting no one. Well, it had been Bruce's idea, who _really_ didn't like the military, but Tony had agreed right away. There wasn't time to take chances with this. If someone could wipe Steve off the map so cleanly, who knew what else they could do.

Clint and James were watched by Thor, who had been uncharacteristically silent and hands-off during the whole thing. Tony had sometimes wondered if Thor compared Steve and James's relationship to his and Loki's, but what Tony couldn't guess was which one Thor saw himself as. He'd like to say Steve, but there was a certain brashness to James that even in his instability and confusion came through, the part of him that was still Bucky, perhaps. Tony wasn't going to touch that with a ten foot pole.

Shaking himself, Tony plunged back into the coding and hacking that he'd practically been raised on, the ins and outs the internet provided him. Bruce was similarly immersed, sifting slowly through any past files the government still had on Steve, searching for anyone who had shown undue interest, anything that looked like it had been taken out. There were hundreds of pages to go through, hundreds of references made, and thousands of connections, and Bruce seemed determined to read every single one himself. The low sound of Clint's voice telling James to breathe in, and breathe out was calming, good white noise to have in the background. It was hardly sixties rock but this wasn't the occasion for sixties rock. It was the occasion for calm, for remaining calm, even though their leader had been taken from under their noses. Steve, had been taken from them. And hell have mercy on those who would try and stop them from getting him back.

 

 

 

 

It was hard to breath around the tube they had stuck down his throat, forcing god knows what into his stomach. They were pumping some kind of liquid nutrient, he thought, to keep him alive, but with his metabolism it wasn't helping much, he could feel his stomach tighten in hunger.

They'd also upped the dosage of whatever sedative they'd been using, giving him nearly constant nausea on top of a pounding headache. It didn't sedate him so much as render him near-immobile, able to only turn his head back and forth, but struggling was useless. Steve hadn't felt this helpless since eighty years ago, before the syrum, and he wasn't exactly enjoying the trip down memory lane.

They were currently wheeling his inert body on a gurney down a hall, the fluorescents overhead passing like light posts on a nighttime drive, regularly distanced but unnatural. He couldn't ask where they were headed, and the two strangers, decked out in medical masks and lab coats, didn't offer any explanation. There was one squeaky wheel on the gurney, so Steve just closed his eyes and focused on that, controlling his breathing and thinking, as he was near constantly, about James. 

The gurney stopped, and Steve blinked his eyes open to hear the pressurized airlock of the door in front of him hiss open, then they pushed him through, into the hands of yet another stranger, this one in some sort of medical equipment that looked far more heavy duty than Steve had seen before in this century. And all at once, Steve was afraid. In his heart, he was still confident that his team was looking for him and would find him soon, but he was no longer sure that he couldn't be hurt by these people. Because he had absolutely no idea what they'd try to do to him.

Something was injected straight into his arm, and Steve whipped his head to the other side, seeing another man, similarly dressed, and a couple more behind him. They were in a cold, sterilized room, the smell of antiseptic burning Steve's nose and making his eyes water slightly. The fuzziness of his vision didn't fade when he blinked away the wetness, and Steve felt an unexpected numbness spread around his head, his vision completely unfocused now. He was practically blind, and there was nothing he could do. Even the small amount he had been able to struggle before had been taken from him, and he could only lay there, exposed and helpless. It wasn't a feeling he would wish on anyone. His mind was racing so fast that he almost didn't catch what the men were saying to each other, but one sentence stood out, and made his blood run cold.

"Begin making the first incision, now."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know this one is short but originally it was ridiculously long and I wasn't going to have anything for you today unless I cut it, so here THIS is, and tomorrow the continuation will be posted. The really agressive comments I've gotten are surprisingly motivating. Leave some more, please.


	9. Serious as Taxes and Death

It was difficult to make any sound, let alone scream, when one's throat was dry and choking around a tube, when all breath had left one's lungs and when everything else was otherwise immobilized. Steve could hardly breathe. The doctors spoke in sharp, medical terms to each other as they dissected him alive, but he could barely hear them over the pain he was in. Super healing had spoilt him, made him forget what real pain was. Because right now? He wasn't healing.

Like a frog in a science class, they had split his skin and peeled it back from his chest, pinning it to the table to keep it from resealing itself. They had cracked open a rib to take marrow samples and were watching the bone now slowly knit itself back together, making note of his heart rate and the anguish on his face, testing his pain tolerance. They took samples of heart tissue, cold metal touching so deep inside of his body that he had thought surely this was the end, surely this would kill me, but he was still here.

It was bearable, not really, but he had no choice to bear it, and he kept having to force himself from the edge of unconsciousness to try to listen to them. He was keeping himself awake through sheer force of will, fueled by hatred. He knew that the lead doctor had worked on Bucky, had tortured James into what he was, because he had told him so.

"The Winter Soldier had a higher pain tolerance, but that may have just been strength of will" and "The other one's blood did not clot so quickly, he nearly bled out on the table a few times" and "This one fights harder, the other just took it and didn't even struggle, but that must have just been his programming".

Steve felt fevered and nasuous and lightheaded, all of which were likely because of what was being done to him, but in his mind Steve attributed it to his fury. They were cutting into his lung, which wasn't improving his breathing, and he nearly passed out once again, but a comment of "The other one would lose consciousness at this point" just flamed his determination to stay awake, to hear what they had done to his Bucky, to hear what they had done to twist him from what he had been, to understand what James remembered in the dead of night when he shot up, sweating and swinging at anything that moved. And Steve could hardly blame him.

He tried to groan in protest as they jabbed too hard in his chest, which no longer stung but throbbed, the pain taking a backseat to his other hurts, but no sound came out. It was like he was dead. Steve had been dead before, and it hadn't suited him. He thought of Bucky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"What would you do for him?" Tony jumped, having thought everyone had left to get some sleep, but sure enough James was still hunched over on the floor beside the sofa, a towel draped over his shoulders the result of Clint's suddenly realized paternal instincts.

"What would I-... Wait what?" he didn't try to bother for eloquence, it had been too long since he'd slept.

Glancing around, he realized that he was completely alone with James. JARVIS would let the others know if something went horribly wrong but it still made him nervous.

"What would you do for Steve. How far would you go to get him back?" James was staring at him with hooded eyes, dark circles taking permanent residence underneath them, pale and unhealthy looking. Tony swallowed.

"He's Captain America. And my friend. I think I'd do just about everything I could to get him back." Tony wasn't sure if this was a test, but as he spoke he realized the truth of is words. "Steve and I... We clash, a lot. But he's the most genuinely good person I've ever met, and I think the others realize that too. But, we just. Just. I don't know. I owe it to him, you know? He's what we should aspire to be, and he's so good at being good? I guess? That doesn't even make sense." Tony stopped but James was nodding, so he kept going. "Steve deserves to be saved. More than anyone. We argue, and bicker and are constantly testing each other (okay that's mostly me) but he's so _adaptable_ , he's been dumped here, in this century, and he's making as much of it as he can, and I, I really admire that, sort of."

Tony looked away, not wanting to meet James's eyes, the admission embarrassing enough. So he didn't see when James raised an eyebrow, something finally becoming clear to the soldier.

"You know, that's almost exactly what Steve said about you," James started, quietly, but Tony whipped around to look at him, a question on his lips but James answered it before he could ask. "He said that you did the best you had with what had been dumped on you. Steve had liked Howard, your dad. But I think he realizes that the Howard who raised you is not the Howard who was his friend. Personally, I never liked Howard. I only met him, like, twice, back when I was still Bucky, and I always thought he was a rich dick. I thought the same of you, too."

"Hey-" Tony started in, but James stopped him with a look. "But just like with Howard, Steve defended you. You say that you guys clash a lot? Steve would say that you debate and have differing opinions. Because he believes in the good of his friends, even if his friends are rich dicks. And he says that you rule this century unlike anyone else, that you _are_ the technology and the knowledge and the better future that people dreamed of in the forties. He holds you on some sort of pedestal, just like the one you and everyone else put him on. Like the one he tries to put me on," James quieted, losing his steam.

"So, what you're getting at is that he's just human too? Or that I'm amazing? I'm not seeing where you're going with this," Tony tried to lighten the mood, but he should have known better than to think that James was in a joking mood. Serious as taxes and death, James stood, staring him down.

"I'm saying that _when_ we get him back, and if he's okay, I'll allow it. You'll treat him right, if you really think that way about him. But God help me, if you hurt him or tell him that he isn't good enough, I will string and quarter you, and hang your body parts off the balcony of your fancy tower. And I'll do it with my human hand, too."

James finally left, probably to haunt the rest of the tower or lock himself in a dark closet or something, leaving a very quiet and dumbstruck Tony behind him.

He didn’t move for a little bit, trying to figure out what had just happened, before deciding to turn back to the screens, something that he could process, his face lit by the unnaturally familiar blue glow, clicking through coding. And more coding. And some government files. And some foreign government files. And some military files. And some facebook pages. Relevant facebook pages, but still. Useless all the same. He was getting nowhere. No one was getting anywhere, there was nothing to find. And all at once, Tony felt like crying, and so he did, with no one but JARVIS to judge him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I really am but it is going to get worse I'm a horrible person but hey you're still reading this so God knows what this says about you... Please comment and let me know what you think. Also, those in favor of this dragging out or the rescue coming sooner? Let me know


	10. I Remember Pain

  A noise sounded, something short and muffled, as if from very far away. It sounded again, but louder now, clearer. A familiar voice followed it, the words indistinguishable but the accent familiar.

 

“JARVIS? Mmph what? What?” Tony nearly slid off the worktable he was draped across, surprised to find himself asleep in the lab. It certainly wasn’t an unusual happening, but since the team had moved in it seemed to happen a lot less.

 

“Sir,” JARVIS was ever patient with his creator, a fact that Tony was indescribably thankful for this early in the morning. “Sir, your search program has had an affirmative hit.”

 

The beeping noise was now identifiable, and Tony scrambled to get to the terminal that was making the blessed noise.

 

“Counter affirmative: 16%. Recalculating-… Now 34%. Recalculating-… Now 66%.”

 

“Bring it up! Up, Up! Up on the big screen! Wake the others, get them down here,” Tony’s bloodshot eyes glowed in the blue lighting around him, and JARVIS continued calculating the counter affirmative matches until he was at 89% and stopped. Eighty-nine. It wasn’t a hundred, but it was a hundred percent more than they’d had the day before.

 

“Shall I wake Mister Barnes, Sir?” At JARVIS’s inquiry Tony froze, his hyperactivity stuck fast as he chewed the question.

 

“I, hmmm. Probably not, but you’d better. He’d kill me if we left him out of this. Alert the others that he’ll be joining us though, so everyone is forewarned of how he may react to whatever we find,” Tony replied, then, under his breath, added, “Whatever we find.”

 

Natasha wasn’t the first down, surprisingly. Clint popped out of an air vent within a minute, and Tony didn’t even say anything, couldn’t even be bothered to roll his eyes. The Hawk had probably slept up there the entire night. Natasha arrived soon after, having just arrived the morning before from California, not a hair out of place and not looking like she’d only had a handful of hours of sleep in the last week and a half. No, Tony was not jealous. Thor was next, having already summoned his armor from the shadow realm, or wherever the hell it came from. Bruce came in yawning, looking like he was trying to literally shake himself awake, his clothes rumpled from where he had likely just collapsed on a couch to sleep, as exahsted as any of them.

 

And then James. Wild eyed and short of breath, his hair pulled back in a messy bun, his grey hoodie hanging off one shoulder, his entire aura screaming ‘unstable’ and Tony didn’t know how to do this. Didn’t know how to tell this man what he’d just read, what the one hit they had on a possible Steve location implied. The man was still in jeans for God’s sake, he hadn’t taken them off to sleep because he wanted to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Tony hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he probably wouldn’t be picked for any rescue team at that point, and now? Now, with what JARVIS had found? There was no way James was coming.

 

“Steve?” James was the first to speak, hope shining in all their eyes but more desperate in his. “Did you find him? Do we know where Steve is?”

 

“It isn’t for sure. But it’s the most we’ve gotten yet. Vegas,” Tony began, flicking his hand so the holograms in front of him shot out onto the worktable, blueprints of the facility he’d located being projected in front of the team. Barton scooted forward, leaning over the prints and memorizing the layout in a blink, Bruce right beside him, toying with the hologram to view different parts of the complex in more detail. Thor made eye contact with Tony, then nodded slowly, shifting so he was closer to James, who’s own eyes were locked on the projections. Natasha saw the movement, watching them both closely, but not moving to interfere or help, trusting them to handle it.

 

“There is a facility in Vegas, to all official inspections and on papers it checks out as a laboratory that specializes in human testing, like for medicine and treatments that have already been tested on animals or whatnot and need to move on to the human testing stage. What doesn’t show up on any public documents, however, are the four underground levels only accessible through the mainframe. JARVIS and the search algorithm I worked out only caught it on the fifth run through because it’s encoded and hidden behind the site that would usually link to employee evaluations. It’s actually kind of brilliant, the way they switched about the lines of coding that enabled them to conceal such a large segment of their mainframe within the same lines that-“

 

“Tony,” Natasha said, and he shut up. Glancing again at Thor, Tony pulled up the next projection and, as he anticipated, James’s breath caught in his throat.

 

“This is Doctor Weiss Vindell. He’s a noted biological engineer and respected surgeon, and has several papers on the plausibility of a super soldier serum ever being recreated, and the side effects and repercussions introduction of such a serum would have on the human body. Papers that have excessively accurate… insight, on the subject.” Tony trailed off, not wanted to push it, but also to see if James had anything to say. He wasn’t expecting much though, seeing as how James looked like he had shut down internally and needed a mental reboot if he planned on functioning ever again. Thor had moved closer, anticipating an outburst, ready to grab his arms before he injured anyone, but now it looked like that wasn’t necessary.

 

“I know him,” his lips hardly moved. “I, don’t remember though. But he was there.”

 

James edged closer to the screens, moving slowly and as if in a trance, his gaze locked on the man’s projected face, his own face expressionless.

 

“There were bright lights behind him, and I never saw his face like this,” James was nose to nose with the hologram, “Never eye to eye like this.”

 

“What do you remember about him?” Natasha would be the only one to dare interrupt James when he was like this, in one of his… things. James didn’t react, at first.

 

“Pain,” he said, and Tony was ready right then. Ready to blast down to Vegas and incinerate the whole facility, as long as he made sure this Vindell guy was inside. His reaction surprised him. This was for Steve, right? But it was James as well. This Vindell guy might not be the instigator or the ringleader or even a useful link to the chain of James’s tormenters, but he was on the list. And that was good enough for Tony. Almost more alarming was the way Thor’s eyes had darkened, and Bruce’s knuckles cracked on the edge of the table, which he was gripping just a bit too tightly for it to be just for support.

 

Barton hadn’t reacted beyond looking back at Natasha. She hadn’t even blinked, which in itself was an indicator of how pissed off she was. Tony felt his heart warm at the thought of what the condensed hatred of all the Avengers focused on one subject could do. And then he grinned, the blue glow making his smile more of a grimace.

 

“James, buddy,” he started, “How would you like to turn the tables?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it has taken so long to update, it has just been a few very crazy very stressful days and I haven't had time to write. After tonight though things should calm down and I can start whipping out chapters again. Leave a comment and let me know what you think, thanks!


	11. Who Would He Be Without His Memories?

James was silent in his seat on the quinjet, cleaning a gun with a focus that would be unnerving if Tony didn’t trust him not to shoot them. Clint was piloting, rocketing at what was likely an unsafe speed towards Las Vegas, Natasha sitting in the copilot chair speaking in a low tone to him. Bruce was doing some sort of breathing exercise; Tony knew he’d been trying to hold back the other guy since James had admitted to having been tortured by Vindell.  Tony felt like he shouldn’t be so surprised with how protective of the other’s had grown of James, especially looking at how he himself felt. This whole paternal feelings thing was unexpected, and Tony wasn’t sure if he liked it.

 

But maybe it wasn’t just mama-bearing James, maybe it was just avoidance of thinking of what Steve was dealing with. Steve was never out of his thoughts, especially now, on their way to stage a rescue. James spoke as if reading his thoughts, bringing voice to what they’d all been thinking.

 

“He’ll have been cut open like a fish. They’ll have split his skin only to watch how fast it sews itself back together. They’ll have stuck him just to test how his blood clots, if he scars, and how his skin regenerates. Then they’ll have done the same to his lungs, to his other organs, to see how much he can take before his healing factor slows down. The whole while they’ll be waiting to see how he takes it, if and when he screams, when he loses consciousness, how much blood loss can he survive before blacking out, how fast his body will reawaken him and replenish the blood,” James wiped his hand over his face, and the remaining Avengers stole glances at each other, waiting to see which of them would ask. When no one else made a move, Tony kneeled in front of James, the armor creaking.

 

“How are you so sure of this James?” He spoke as softly as he could, knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyways. James’s eyes were as dark and sad as he’d ever seen them, as lost in memories as he’d ever been.

 

“Because that’s what they did to me. They’ll want to compare notes.” James was quiet for a while, but looked like he had more to say, but wasn’t sure if he should speak. Tony didn’t know what he could possibly say that would scare them off now, not with everything else they’d swallowed. He spoke in a whisper, just to Tony, not letting the others hear. “They may have tried to wipe his memories. Tony, what would Steve be without knowing who he is?”

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

No sound came out of his mouth, though for once it was not gagged, he was not drugged out of his mind, only enough to not be able to fight. Instead his jaw was clenched, nearly biting through the small mouth guard they had let him have, the rubber tasting bitter and cold, nearly splitting between his teeth. Electricity surged through his body, lightning shooting through his veins and smelling like something was burning, a sense that was not quite smell and not quite taste but the burning sensation was present nonetheless. Every ten minutes of so (so he guessed, keeping track of time wasn’t one of his priorities) they would cease the currents, checking his eyes and pulse to make sure he was still alive.

He was, though he wasn’t sure if he was thankful for it or not. His nerve endings were fried, his brain felt like it was sizzling, and his entire body ached and shook, flinching as lighting shot through his muscles.  He felt someone’s hand touch his face, peeling back his eyelids to check his reaction, but he flinched away, his arms and legs trembling with a an energy that was not his own. Some kind of low whine sounded, and he was surprised to hear it come from himself. All the noise he could really make was a desperate, broken panting, gasping for air around the pain that blossomed in his head.

"No prior conditioning" "Expected different results anyways" "The serum is stronger and more resistant, the Winter Soldier was created with this in mind, Rogers wasn't" "The side effects are not properly documented" "Stronger resistance may lead to stronger repercussions, we're gone too far" "No training or conditioning was implemented on this subject, reactions are unpredictable"

Whispers leaked in from the corners of his mind, and somehow he knew his hearing was delayed, that he was processing the words much slower than he should be, perhaps not even completely understanding them at all. All he knew was that he hurt, and that Bucky had been hurt. Bucky had been hurt. Bucky?

He struggled, determined to get to Bucky, to save Bucky, but restraints held him back, and the speaking around him ceased as someone pried his eyes open to the too bright light, checking on him again. Whoever it was mumbled something to the others and in a moment something cool and sweet seeped into his veins, spreading a soft numbness through his body, gentle and sleepy, until he relaxed back against the metal table, thoughts of Bucky fled from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, okay, so I didn't realize that this chapter was so short until I went to post it, so sorry for that. Also, before I finish writing the next one, please comment on whether you want the rescue to commence quickly and recovery to begin or if you are in it for a long bloody fight and maybe or maybe not a few more setbacks? Either way is fine by me, trust me when I saw that I can drag this out, but I promise that if I drag it out that none of the characters are going to have much fun. Leave a comment and let me know, thanks for reading!


	12. Tin Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow guys, I am thrilled that the last chapter had so much response, why don't you guys do that all the time?? Since the vote was split surprisingly evenly between dragging the ordeal out and immediate rescue, I've compromised. No setbacks, so the rescue is happening, but it will be neither quick nor painless so please nobody get mad that I didn't go with one or the other. Before we begin, just wanted to warn you all that I'm asking another story changing question at the bottom, and I honestly need your opinions so I can keep writing.

"Comms in and on," Barton's voice sounded over the quinjet intercom, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the wind outside and the engines. Thor handed Tony two ear sets, one he clicked into the suit for JARVIS to link to, and the other he offered hesitantly to James, who took it after a heartbeat, pausing so briefly Tony could have missed it. Somehow, Tony knew exactly what he was thinking.

"We know it'd be pointless to try and tell you not to come, we know you can fight and you can fight well. This time though, you have a real cause that you really care about. That makes it different from before. You aren't the Winter Soldier anymore James, you're your own soldier. Our soldier, if you want to be. You know how Hydra works and what they'll do to stop us, and that makes you invaluable on a mission like this. There's no one else I'd want watching my six," He spoke low enough that only James could hear, sitting beside him, the seat cramped with the armor, but James clacked his metal shoulder companionably against Tony's, giving a small smile that he wasn't sure if he was meant to see.

"And if I lose it? If I get caught up in some insane memory that isn't even my own? What will you do, if you beat the bad guys and save Steve and secure the building and I'm just turn into some rampaging monster? What are you going to do then Stark? You can't always save the entire day," James's voice had just the slightest tremble in it, though his face gave nothing away, and the tremble could be attributed to the engines' rumble or the cabin beeping.

"I'd like and see anyone try and make us leave you. We'd make Thor put you in a bear hug and we'd stick you in a padded cell and read you cardboard children's books and shower you in plush animals until you snapped out of it. We've been through an awful lot of effort to leave you now Barnes, don't you think? It'd be rude of you to waste all our hard work," Tony sniffed dramatically, could feel James shaking a little with a chuckle, and placed his helmet over his head, his now mechanized voice asking, "Barton? What's our ETA?"

"We got ten minutes tops until touch down, Tin Man," Clint's voice cut off as soon as he said it, but they'd all heard it. Thor looked down, his face falling in shadow. They only used that name when Steve was around, and the spangled soldier would roll his eyes and say 'I understood that reference' for everyone else's amusement. For now, no one said anything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A light flickered from one eye to the other, blinding him when it left, leaving darkness behind, until he blinked it away, pain shooting through his skull at even the small motion.

"Oh good, he's alive. Mark the time, and prepare the next round of injections," A deep voice sounded from above, sounding frighteningly cheerful and with the slightest accent, concealed with a fake american one. Steve still couldn't see, and trying to breath resulted in a dry rasp, his tongue like sandpaper, his throat parched and raw from screaming. He wasn't sure if he could take anything else. He hoped that the next time, they wouldn't bother checking to see if he was alive. A red light flashed beyond his closed eyelids, and opening them upon being startled led him to blink uncertainly at the flaring red flashed and whining siren.

"All rooftop cameras have cut feeds and we've lost communication with external security!" An unfamiliar voice spoke with a mechanized drone, sounding over an intercom, or something similar. With a growl, Steve felt the presence at his side disappear, and once a loud clang sounded and the sound of multiple locks turning clunked into place he was left in peace, blissfully alone and deaf to the sirens.

 

 

 

 

James Buchanan Barnes was an oiled and well greased killing machine, his moves flowing so seamlessly into one another that the hit to one man's neck continued straight into the next's chest. No motion was superfluous, no unnecessary twitch was made, and it could have put Captain America to shame. To be fair though, the Captain never went into a fight with the sole purpose of killing.

Natasha was a shadow behind him, dancing in her own grace, small flashes and seizing bodies left in the wake of her widow's bites, the few she skipped by sprouting fletched arrow shafts, the only trace of Clint that anyone would find until the fight was over. The sky rumbled outside, thunder shaking the building as Thor unleashed his rage on the men outside. Bruce's voice was painstakingly neutral with a forced calm over the communication units as he relayed positions and any new information JARVIS garnered to the team. And the Iron Man? He stalked behind the assassins in black, letting the first unleash his unbridled rage and suppressed aggression, the second picking anyone he deemed too weak to be a threat to him. Tony just blew doors out of the way, but was mostly unnecessary as James ripped off the hinges of any door he came by, spinning through the sudden openings and eliminating any within with a quick pop of a gun, using a full rifle at such short range, the only words he uttered were terse "Clear"s whenever he emptied a room of living bodies.

It was gruesome and bloody and mercy did not exist in the vocabulary of the Winter Soldier, or whatever it was James was now. Not James anymore though... Bucky. Not ten minutes before, as they stood to move to the cargo door of the quinjet, all set to leap out, a metal hand had clasped Tony's armor, gripping tight enough to make the metal creak, the owner leaning forward until his mouth almost brushed Tony's ear.

"I remember everything," he had practically breathed the words, as if he didn't believe them enough to say them out loud, but when Tony turned, questioning, he'd never seen the man so certain of anything.

"I remember being Bucky. I remember being the Winter Soldier too. I didn't, not at first, but the memories came back faster than I let anyone know, like there was a crack in the glass and it just started shattering after that. I've known for a while it was just..a lot to sort through. I wasn't sure if I could still be Bucky, not after Hydra. But I will. I can." And what could Tony do but agree? All the broken man wanted was to be Bucky. All Tony had time to say before the cargo door unleashed them upon the facility, was,

"The Bucky from the forties couldn't have been half the man you are." And then they jumped.

 

 

 

 

 

Tony snapped out of it when he noticed they had stopped, and Bucky seemed to be repeatedly ramming himself, mechanical shoulder first, into a vault door. Natasha was giving him some sort of exasperated look, somehow letting him know that she knew that he had been out of it for a few minutes there and hadn't let anyone take a shot at his head, all without saying a word. Then she gave a little nod of her head towards Bucky, who seemed to have completely lost it and was now clawing at the door with both his metal fingers and his human ones. Tony frowned, checking quickly with JARVIS where they were in the building.

He took a step forward and rested the armor's heavy hand on Bucky's, trapping him against the door until he heard Bucky breathing evenly again. Sweeping his hand away in a dramatic flourish, Bucky rolled his eyes and stepped out of the way. Tony positioned himself, with a little help from JARVIS, to blast the door at an angle that wouldn't send it flying forward into the room beyond or back at them. The repulsers powered up, shot straight and true, Bucky jumping through the smoldering hole through the smoke before Tony even brought his arms down. Tony was about to follow him through when he froze, Natasha grabbing his arm in the same moment, exchanging glances when they heard Bucky's voice, so suddenly tentative from beyond the smoke.

"Steve?"

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? Too short, too long? Let me know. Also, as hinted at in previous chapters(not to mention the tags) Steve/Tony is going to be a thing. At some point. I'm working on it. Yes, there is going to be at least one graphic sex scene. HOWEVER, what about Bucky/James? Do you want him to have a romance of his own(and if so, who?) and if not, how about a bromance of epic proportions? Let me know either way, because I'm torn between wanting him to just be satisfied with his mental state, and don't want to push him into a relationship that would be out of character, but also who wouldn't want to get with Bucky, right? Please help me, I don't know what I'm doing, just tell me what to do.


	13. Never Let You Out Of Our Sight

“Steve?” Bucky asked again, this time sounding more unsure than surprised. The man strapped to the metal table in front of him was motionless, completely pale and bloodless looking, swathed with gauze and bandages that had blood seeping through, all looking crusted and old, as though they hadn’t been changed in too long. Bucky was hesitant, reaching out a hand towards the pallid body, not daring to breathe.

He heard the clomping of Tony’s armor clambering into the room, and he could just barely catch the whisper soft footfalls of Natasha as she followed him in, but luckily they both stayed back. Bucky didn’t know what he’d do if… Well.

He nearly collapsed when he saw the twitch of a finger from the man, and he sunk to is knees, putting him eye to eye with the body on the table. “Oh Steve,” he whispered, brushing back the blond’s shaggy hair. Steve hated it when his hair grew out. They’d have to get it cut again first thing. Bucky checked his pulse, and behind him he could hear Natasha shuffling through some papers she had found lying around, likely notes detailing what had been done to Steve. Iron Man was unmoving, but Bucky suspected that behind the mask an influx of information was being scanned and processed by the genius mind behind the metal.

He could barely spare a thought for Tony though, not when Steve’s eyes flickered, the weakest hiss of breath escaping his mouth in a groan.

“Steve? Steve, hey, you with me punk?” Bucky rubbed his shoulder, circling his human thumbs over Steve’s exposed skin, relieved to feel body heat. He was going to be okay. If Steve had lived this long, was still at least partially conscious, he was going to live. Bucky felt tears gather in the corners of his eyes, and touched them softly with his metal fingertips, surprised. This was the first time he’d cried consciously, and not as the result of some twisted nightmare. But they were tears of joy.

“Buck-…?” The sound was practically too quiet to hear, but Bucky’s ears caught it. He grasped at Steve’s hand, the tears falling a little faster now.

"I’m here Steve. It’s me, it’s Bucky. I’ve got you buddy, I’ve got you.” And he started ripping the straps apart, his mechanical hand crushing the steel clasps without any effort, but he eased the thick leather cuffs off more carefully, not wanting to jostle Steve in the slightest. He could hear Tony repeating that they’d located Steve to the others over the comms but he couldn’t be bothered to care, all his attention on the body on the table.

Looking at Steve, his relief was now tinged with fury. Taking in the dark and crusted blood at his nose, the dried stream of it dripping from one of his ears, the reddened lips from where he had coughed up blood, and the bandages. They completely covered his chest and encased one leg, swaddling an entire arm and cushioning his back. Bucky gripped the table, making the metal squeal when he squeezed too tight, regretful that no more guards were there for him to crush their skulls in. A heavy clunk alerted him to Tony grabbing his shoulder, nervous at his table mutilation.

“I’m fine, I’m good. Just… I didn’t shoot enough people on the way down here. Call in a medical team, we can’t move him like this, they’ll have messed with his spine. He needs to get out of here.” He was thankful that Tony didn’t question him; just made the necessary calls and stood back, letting Bucky have his time. Brushing back Steve’s hair again, Bucky finally gave in.

All the rage and anger and terror he’d been suppressing the past two weeks just whooshed out of is body, and he buried his face in Steve’s bandaged neck, sobbing as quietly as he could into the comfort of his oldest friend’s warmth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tony stood back, called the medical teams quickly, but let JARVIS give them the directions to get down to the room. Switching to the other comm units, he checked on the other teams, heard Coulson and Wilson directing local police and military forces, rounding up any of the facility’s employees who hadn’t encountered Bucky, the living ones, being rounded up and arrested. Thor and Clint were going through the rest of the facility that hadn’t been directly in their path, rounding up any and all stragglers. Bruce had gone off comm as soon as he’d heard that they’d located Steve, and Tony could just picture him trying to meditate in the quinjet, controlling the other guy, repressing the Hulk. There was no need for the monster now, not when the bulk of fighting was over, and they had been hesitant to use him earlier, wary of the destruction he would cause with Steve still inside.

Oh Steve. Tony wanted nothing more than to take the man’s face in his hands, to check all his wounds, to make sure he was real. But he couldn’t interrupt this. Bucky had broken down, shaking and crying nearly silently into the unmoving man’s shoulder, draped across Steve like he could shield him from all the horrors of the world. No matter what Tony felt for Steve, in his heart he knew that Bucky had the first claim, certainly a purer relationship with the man. But then again, Bucky had basically given his blessing to Tony. And he’d be damned if he would let an opportunity like that pass him by. This moment might belong to Bucky, but when Steve was healed, Tony would never leave his side.

Bucky had seen what Tony himself had been trying so hard to ignore, the dependency that didn’t truly make itself known until he was suddenly without the man who’d become his second half, Steve, who had become his crime fighting partner and the wall to bounce his ideas off of. Steve, who had literally picked him up and carried him out of the labs and workshops when he’d been wrapped up in work for too long. Steve, who he’d ignored as much as he could for as long as he could and still it hadn’t mattered at all because James Buchanan Barnes had been able to see right through him.

Speaking of, Bucky had just jerked back from Steve, his hands flying to the blond’s face again, touching his cheeks and brow gently, as if trying to affirm if he was really real.

"What was that? What’s you say Steve?” Bucky sounded desperate, and Tony drew closer, just a desperate as the other to hear Steve’s voice. Steve’s prone body shifted slightly, resulting in a pained whimper from the man, and Bucky’s hands fluttered, wanting to help but not knowing how.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was so weak.

“Yeah, I’m right here, what is it?”

“Oh God, Bucky. It hurts.” Steve spoke so slowly and softly, like he was afraid talking would be too much effort for him. Tony could see tears dripping from Bucky onto Steve’s arm.

"I promise it’s going to be okay Stevie, we’ve got you now, and you’re safe. The bad guys are caught, the good guys are here. We’re the rescue party, see?” Bucky moved a bit to the side so Steve could see Tony and Natasha, who had come up behind him, watching her leader with unreadable eyes. But Steve’s eyes were barely cracked as it was, and he didn’t look away from Bucky.

“I’m just, so glad you’re okay Bucky. I was so, so worried about you.” Steve gave the weakest smile and Tony’s heart wrenched. Of course Captain America would be worried for is friend instead of himself. It was one hell of a coping mechanism, he supposed. Bucky couldn’t respond he was so choked up, just shaking his head. Bucky looked back at Tony and Natasha for help, but Natasha had stepped away to greet the medical team at the blasted-out doorway, giving Bucky a moment to pull himself together.

Tony stepped forward into Steve’s line of sight, giving him a moment to reorient, squinting up at Tony as he tried to look at whoever had just stepped in front of him. When Steve caught sight of Tony’s face, the faceplate of the armor slid back, and Tony gave a cautious smile. Steve had a dumbstruck look on his face, confused.

"What, you think we’d let Bucky come on his own? I told you we’d all look out for him. The whole team is here, Steve, you’re going to be okay. And we’re probably never going to let you out of our sight again,” he admitted, so relieved to have Steve back. Steve blinked though, confused. Then he spoke, and Tony’s blood ran cold.

“Who are you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, that ending. I'm so sorry but it really is important that i leave it there so you aren't all blindsided next chapter. I can't tell you how much the nice comments last chapter meant to me, there were actual tears in my eyes at some of them. They really were very inspiring and I've been having kind of a shitty time lately, so this has really meant more to me than I can say. So thank you all again, please leave me more?


	14. Terribly Lonely People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. This is a little bit later than I promised. I don't even have a good excuse I just haven't been writing.  
> Here.  
> Take it.  
> Just take it from me.

Bucky was rooted to Steve's bedside, the private hospital room finally calming down now that Steve's tests had been finished and the nurses and doctors were clearing out. Tony could hear Bucky murmuring softly to the unresponsive blond, his hands closed around one of Steve's limp ones.

Tony stood in the doorway, but made no motion to come forward, leaving Steve to be with the only one he remembered. As he had yet to fully regain consciousness since Vegas, they had no way of knowing how permanent or temporary his memory loss was, or if it was merely confusion and exhaustion talking at the facility. No matter the cause or the root of the loss, it left an ache in his chest, just behind the reactor, and although part of him recognized that it wasn't a physical thing, Tony couldn't help but rub at the reactor unhappily.

Not for the first time in his life, and probably not for the last, Tony was at a loss. Caught between suppressed jealousy and knowing that his jealousy was irrational. There was a crushing sort of blankness that had come over him since Steve’s lack of recognition. Months spent ignoring his crush on the super soldier and then the sudden loss of said soldier, in addition to Bucky’s blessing/warning and his confrontation with his own feelings had given him a hope that he’d long since abandoned, maybe never had in the first place – the hope of having someone to love.

Although he’d never admit it, he suspected it was obvious to anyone who knew him well. He was a terribly lonely person. Natasha had clued into it since the moment she’d met him as Natalie Rushman. Bruce had recognized it because he himself was familiar with the feeling. Clint was so used to be alone that he couldn’t be bothered to make fun of Tony for being the same. Thor had never been alone in his life before, but Tony sometimes got the feeling that the demigod was humoring Tony, placating him. It gave Tony the uncomfortable feeling that the god had somewhat adopted him as another troubled little brother, recognizing parts of Loki in Tony. And that particular thought made Tony distinctly uncomfortable so he’d never addressed it and wasn’t ever planning on it.

Bucky had hauled himself onto Steve's gurney, slotting himself next to the soldier and tucking himself under Steve's unmoving arm. Bucky whispered something or other to him, some inside joke about their childhoods. Tony tried not to swallow the bitterness his saliva suddenly tasted of.

And so he left. Wandering down the depressingly sterile hospital halls wasn't doing much to improve his mood. Natasha and Clint had stayed back in Nevada to manage and sort what was left of where they'd found Steve, while Tony and Bucky had joined Steve through his hospital airlift back to New York once he was declared stable enough to be moved. Thor was still tracking down Bruce as far as they knew, as he had Hulked out when he heard what state Steve was is, and who had refused to de-Hulk until he had smashed the facility to rubble, and then smashed it again from rubble to dust before taking off across the desert. They were scattered and Tony had never wanted his team all together in one place so badly before.

 

 

Coaxing toxic sludge out of the hospital lounge's coffee machine became an art form over the next couple of days. Tony was the worst at it, as he required supervision to make sure he didn't try and take it apart. Thor was surprisingly gentle with it and whispered soothingly while trying to obtain the black nectar, as if he were talking to a skittish horse. Natasha and Clint both would only get coffee if someone else made it (smart of them) and Bruce was the only one of them who was halfway successful with actually making coffee. Bucky hadn't left Steve's room at all, so the rest of the team had taken to bringing cups of coffee up several times a day, feeding Bucky's caffeine affixation and fueling what was fast becoming an addiction.

As the doctors had explained it, Steve's brain had been shook around more than it ever had before, which was impressive considering the situations Captain America could expect find himself in on a daily basis, so the extent or permanence of any memory loss was impossible to judge.

"The human brain is unpredictable and difficult to predict in a regular human - In Captain Rogers, a brain that has been frozen, defrosted, and bashed around NYC as much as his has, we really have no more idea what we're looking at than any joe on the street," the assisting doctor chimed in after the head doctor had hummed and hawed for a couple minutes, perhaps sensing that the Avengers knew when they were getting bullshitted. Tony appreciated the kid's honesty, even though the news could have been better.

On the bright side, the hospital staff seemed to have a much greater grasp of what was wrong with Steve physically, and were fully confident that he would heal.

"There obviously aren't a whole lot of comparisons to Captain Rogers, health wise, but the information we do have about his healing factors and recovery rates indicate that he will make a complete recovery," the same assisting doctor had said at a later meeting (Tony really liked this one - he should figure out the guy's name at some point).

The young doctor had continued, "Now, his advanced healing does appear to have slowed dramatically, but I had some tests run before it was reported and found that, as I'd hoped, his body was compartmentalizing and simply was focused on healing the internal injuries rather than the bones and cuts, and his organs are almost completely sealed now. All nutrients and efforts his body had went to mending his lung and the tears in his small intestine, and the swelling around his liver and kidneys has reduced dramatically. The only thing we still can't say for sure is whether the significant bruising on one of his lungs has faded, but I'd be willing to assume that it was healed fairly quickly. We can't exactly ask him if it still feels tender, but his breathing has become much less labored in the past twenty-four hours, so all signs are good."

Tony had taken to shoving Steve's medical charts at Bruce whenever they went into the hospital room itself, Steve lying pale and motionless on the bed, its' drab, muted grey sheets serving to make him look like stone. Bruce would shake his head in exasperation at Tony, mumbling "not that kind of doctor" under his breath, but taking the charts to look over anyways. Bucky would be either sitting at Steve's side, holding his pale hand, or slumped over the edge of the bed in an exhausted sleep. When they found him like this, they'd lay one of the spare hospital blankets over his shoulders and try not to wake him.

The hospital had tried complaining a few days ago about the permanent occupation of Steve's team, but Tony waved some money at them and they quieted down, the promise of new medical equipment enough to hush them up. Some of the doctors had switched out, weary of the Avenger's close scrutiny of their work on Steve, only the original head doc and the assisting one staying on for longer than a few days. The team was meticulous with watching all of Steve's tests, keeping track of each x-ray and every syringe of blood, aware of how the tempting the super syrum would be to the hospital. They made no mystery of what they were doing, and spoke loudly in common areas of what would happen to anyone found attempting anything. Tony was sure that they'd terrified a few nurses with the goriness the details achieved.

Tony blinked out of his wall-staring stupor in the lounge when his phone buzzed, a text from Clint drawing the team to Steve's room. His brow furrowing, Tony stood, his vertebrae cracking as he stretched. Just over a week of hanging out in the hospital and he felt like he should be admitted there. A tired breath and he started walking. Stoping in the doorway to Steve's hospital room, Tony froze, cocking an eyebrow. The others had made it there before him, and were expectantly watching the assisting doctor, who held a medical chart tightly and looked conflicted.

"Ah, Mr.Stark, well, you're all here," The doctor began, his youth betrayed in his voice, but it grew stronger as he continued, sure of his diagnosis. "As you are all aware, we've combated Captain Roger's metabolism with a particularly heavy sedative, in an attempt to give his brain time to heal and keep his body immobile to promote a quicker recovery. Even with his advanced healing, we had hoped to keep him under another week, not only to ensure that all bodily wounds were on the right track but to give his mind as much time as possible to rest before having to function once again, and in a body that had been severely traumatized, no less."

Thor was nodding along, looking sullen in the corner with his thick arms crossed in front of his chest. Bucky and Clint were exchanging weary glances, sensing a "but" coming. Natasha hadn't moved at all, eyes locked on the doctor's face, and Bruce's eyes were closed, Tony could practically hear him counting slowly to ten in his head. The doctor sighed, taking his glasses off.

"However, I'm afraid that the ideal route is no longer possible. The Captain is currently being tube fed a super blend of nutrients and liquid, but it isn't enough to sustain his body at the rate it metabolizes, especially during a healing period where his body will burn through food and nutrients faster than ever. We have to wake him up so we can get some real food into him. We've got to take him off the sedative soon."

Tony's heart dropped. Less time asleep pretty much equalled less brain healing. More time under equalled better mental state, or at least, that was how it had been explained to Tony. Steve's case was singularly unique, they were all aware of that, but the heavy silence that fell showed how seriously everyone was taking it. Bucky was the first to speak, his voice hoarse.

 

"How soon will you take him off the sedative?"

 

"Tomorrow morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the team has been camped out near Steve's hospital room for just over a week now, in case you didn't catch that. I imagine they are all getting pretty tired and cranky and sick of hospital food at this point, but there isn't a whole lot of talking and interacting going on.
> 
> I know, I'm an asshole. I don't have an excuse, let alone a good one, for not writing or posting anything for so long. Please, by all means, let me know how annoyed you are with me. 
> 
> But then, after you've expressed your annoyance, please let me know whether you'd be more interested in more but shorter chapters(they'd be posted quicker) or chapters of the same length(which admittedly will be posted faster than this one, but not as fast as the short ones). Thank you for putting up with my shit.


	15. Don't You Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a piece of shit, I know, I know. Trust me, I am aware. I promise quicker updates, then there arn't any. I'm a piece of shit.  
> This chapter isn't really any shorter, but it just kind of didn't stop when I intended it to so of course I was obliged to see it to the end. More chapters to come. Again, I am a piece of shit and I am aware of it. See chapter notes at the end.

It started with one inhale that was slightly deeper than the previous one, and then his eyelids fluttered. There was a twitch of his hand before Bucky had grabbed it, leaning over the soldier. Bucky and a doctor were the only two in the room besides Steve, who was slowly but surely coming back to the land of the living.

Tony's nails had been bitten down to nubs and yet he still gnawed anxiously at his thumb from the other side of the one way glass. Natasha, beside him, could have been just as tense as he but she, of course, made no move to show it. Bruce and Clint were on her other side, obstructed from Tony's view, Thor standing behind the lot of them, but Tony paid them no attention, his gaze riveted on the blond through the glass.

It had been decided that Bucky could stay in the room, both because Steve was more likely to recognize him than anyone else, especially if Steve's memory was faulty, and also in case Steve needed to be restrained. The last time he had woken up in a strange hospital he had made quite the getaway, but it would be best if that could be avoided this time.

Bucky looked like he might throw up, the doctor standing off to one side making notes, watching Steve intently, clinically, and it made Tony's skin crawl. The detachment the head doctor had kept throughout this whole ordeal was exactly the kind of professionalism that any doctor should display, but it was so unusual for people to remain so isolated from Steve. He usually drew everyone in with his big, earnest smiles, and stupid humility and his genuine interest in everything going on around him. Tony cut off that line of thinking when Steve's eyelids fluttered again.

They scrunched shut tightly, finally detecting the bright florescent lighting in the room, and a small noise escaped Steve. Bucky crouched over him, shushing him.

"Hey, hey it's okay Stevie, I'm right here, it's me. It's just Bucky. I've got you, I'm right here," Bucky sounded like he was trying to choke back his emotions, his voice tight, the sound of it picked up on hidden microphones and replaying with the slightest overlap in the accompanying room, where the rest of the team held their breaths.

"... Buck-?" And there they were, those baby blues, blinking open hesitantly, taking longer than they should have to focus on Bucky's face, hovering above him. Bucky gave a sharp laugh of relief, clutching Steve's hand all the tighter. The Winter Soldier was practically choking on the effort not to cry, the emotional turmoil of the past days finally making themselves present as their cause was seemingly resolved, Steve awake and, so far, functioning. With his free hand, Bucky rubbed at his eyes irritably, smiling down at the somewhat unfocused gaze in the gurney.

"There's a doc over here, he's just gonna check you out, okay Stevie? You're gonna be alright, I promise, just answer the doctor's questions and you'll be up and swinging in no time," Bucky's Brooklyn accent bled through thicker than usual in his surprisingly tender explanation, his eyes never leaving Steve's face. The blond didn't acknowledge his words at all, slowing turning his head and blinking blearily around the room, his gaze lingering briefly on the reflective glass, the other side of which Tony pressed forward against, before turning his head back to Bucky.

 

The doctor had run some very simple tests, having Steve follow a light with his eyes, testing his hand coordination, that sort of thing, before letting Bucky try and coax some sort of protein shake into Steve. Steve was asleep again, barely making it more than an hour before exhaustion took him again. A nurse was in with Steve now, checking his vitals with the doctor while he slept on, oblivious. Bucky was out in the waiting room, the entire team clustered tightly around him, eager to hear how he thought Steve was doing but not sure how Bucky would take it, either, especially after... well. After everything else he had to deal with. Tony was squeezed in next to him, his warm shoulder slowly loosing heat to the hard metal one pressed against it. Tony found something comfortable in the metal arm next to him, the familiar hum of technology just barely detectable, thrumming through it faintly.

Tony liked to think that Bucky was getting something out of the closeness, as he seemed to be leaning into Tony's warmth. Of course, it could have just as easily been him trying to get some space from the Avengers crowded around him, who had been joined by Sam Wilson only moments ago, even Coulson finally making an appearance. The two had been busy working with military and police forces to manage the aftermath of Steve's rescue, though much was still unclear, both of the offender's intent and background, as well as where their funding came from and how they obtained the resources and technology to dupe the Avengers in the first place.

"How did he seem?"

"He looked a little out of it, did he manage to eat much?"

"Do you think he's doing okay?"

"Besides the being in a hospital part, did he look okay?"

"Woah guys, calm down, you eager beavers you," Tony interjected, calming the onslaught. Bucky cast him a grateful look, sinking lower into the small couch, as if to hide behind Tony. "Leave the guy alone, we were all basically in the room with them, I doubt he got much more insight than we did. The doc said that Steve is doing as well as they had hoped, given the circumstances. We just have to wait and see, hmmm?"

Sam was standing at the back of the group, but Tony caught his approving nod, noticing that Sam was watching Bucky carefully. The others seemed to back off a little, and it was decided that since Steve was awake they would take the hospital in shifts. Bucky wasn't ready to leave yet, but everyone was exhausted. They didn't expect Steve to wake up for another few hours, so the team went back to the tower, Coulson excusing himself to some undisclosed location as well. That left Tony, Sam, and an emotionally and physically drained Bucky in the waiting room, all barely awake and curled into the hard couches and chairs, each stuck in their own heads for the time being.

 

 

 

"Meeffee."     What.     "Mefie."     What was a Mefie?     "Mefie, ann oou eeer eee?"     Wait what the hell. Those weren't words. It took more effort than he thought it should to open his eyes, and even open he couldn't see. It was all bright and vague shapes, a dark lump to one side, a bright light straight above him. Above? Yeah, above, he was horizontal, laying down.

"Mefie?"     He blinked, trying to find the source of the sound.     "Mefie, ann oou hear me?"     Two of those seemed like real words, they came from the dark lump. He shook his head, blinking, but found any motions he made strangely delayed, like his brain and his body weren't connected the way they ought to be.

"Steve? Stevie, buddy, I need you to look at me. Can you hear me?" The lump sounded like Bucky. Steve blinked, and reoriented. The lump  _was_ Bucky. Ha. He guessed right. He grinned at the Bucky lump. The Bucky lump raised a quizzical eyebrow and Steve reached up to smooth the eyebrow down, but his arm did not go in the right place and instead whacked Bucky on the other side of the head.

"OW! Still pack a little wallop there, you jerk, don't you? Whatchu tryin' to reach, huh pal?" The Bucky lump didn't seem angry that he hit it.

"Pet the eyebrow," Steve whispered, unable to speak normally, his mouth and throat uncommonly dry. He smacked his mouth, confused, Bucky chuckling above him. He started to chew angrily on his tongue before Bucky stopped him, literally grabbing his jaw and holding his teeth apart.

"Woah there big guy, calm down. They may not have you out cold anymore but they sure have you on something strong. Here you go," He held a straw up to Steve who eagerly sucked at the drink, grimacing when it wasn't water, but rather something thick and almost pasty. Bucky chuckled again, but encouraged him to drink it anyways.

"This should help calm down your whacked metabolism, okay? And there's some people who want to see you, how's that sound? You want to see your friends?" 

"Mmmm,"Steve mumbled agreeably through the straw. Friends are always good. There was some noise behind Bucky, and Steve's eyes flickered over. Sam walked in the room, seeming hesitant, freezing when he met Steve's eye.

"Maammm!" Steve tried to talk, but the straw was in his mouth. When did that get there? He spat it out, trying again.

"Sam!" His voice was still hoarse, but at least distinguishable. Sam and Bucky exchanged some sort of look, so quick that Steve didn't quiet catch it, but Bucky's shoulders seemed to drop in relief, and Sam looked much less hesitant that before. He came up to the bed next to Bucky, sitting on the mattress by Steve's legs and making the bed creak.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Sam seemed calm, but his eyes were locked on Steve's face. Steve was suckling the nasty drink again, but he tried to give a thumbs up. Luckily Bucky caught his arm before he accidentally smacked Sam in the face, and held it away from both their faces while Steve tried to work his fingers well enough to bring the thumb up and curl the others. The movement was beyond him, but he watched his hand intently, suddenly fascinated by the movement. Sam looked bewilderedly at Bucky, who shrugged, before turning his attention back to Steve.

"Well you don't  _seem_ to be complaining. You okay to see another friend?" Steve nodded serenely around his drink which he was sucking the dregs out of. Bucky took it from him and handed him a full one before nodding to a mirrored wall behind him. Steve was starving now that he was eating, and his limited attention was focused solely on the cup in his hands so he didn't notice at first when another person entered the room.

 

"Steve?" Wait. He knew that voice. That was  _the_ voice. The one that talked to him when he went dark. But he wasn't dark now, wasn't pushed unconscious by his own body, so that meant... the voice must be real. Slowly, hardly comprehending, Steve looked up.

"Howard?" But no, it wasn't Howard, not if his face dropped at the name, going pale. No... He wasn't Howard. Howard wasn't the voice he had been hearing... And this man only looked like Howard vaguely, upon closer inspection the differences were clearer.

"No... Not Howard..." The stranger looked up, face carefully blank. Steve struggled to sit up, both Sam and Bucky ignored, though they tried to keep him laying down he shoved them away. He underestimated his strength and knocked them both down but was beyond caring.

"You- You're.." He raised a shaking hand, reaching towards the dark haired man. The man moved closer, a barely lit hopeful light in his eyes.

"Yeah? You remember me Steve?" He sounded eager, but afraid. That was wrong, the voice wasn't ever afraid, the voice was strong even when Steve was afraid. Steve hesitated, tilting his head.

"You're the voice. The one in here," he slowly tapped the side of his head, and the man's brows drew together. Bucky and Sam were back on their feet, wary, but the man waved them back as he drew closer, settling down on his heels beside Steve's bed so that his face was just below Steve's own. Eyes so dark they were nearly black reflected the harsh lighting, the face impassive despite the life those eyes betrayed. His voice was soft.

"My voice is in your head Steve?" Steve nodded, cautious. The man didn't seem perturbed. "And what does my voice say, in your head?"

Steve looked away, suddenly shy for reasons he couldn't fathom at the moment. Strong fingers, thick with callouses gripped his chin in a gentleness that hid the strength behind them. The man turned Steve's head slowly until their eyes met again.

"What does my voice say, Steve?" His voice was so soft, even Steve could barely hear it with his enhanced ears, it would have been silent to the other occupants of the room.

"You said... you said-" Steve's eyes teared up suddenly, and he touched the wetness with his fingertips, confused by the emotion hitting him. His mind couldn't make sense of it, not with whatever they were pumping into him through the IV lines. He tugged the lines absently, ripping them out of his skin. Either Sam or Bucky made a noise of protest, but they were ignored. He took a deep breath.

"You would remind me," Steve whispered, and the man leaned closer, his black eyes encouraging, drawing the words out of Steve, "You'd remind me they were coming to save me, when I forgot, and you'd talk, in here," He tapped his head.

The black eyes shone sharper, damp, and the man's face tightened. Steve continued.

"I would forget, and my body would stop sometimes, but when my head, when my mind tried to stop your voice would be there, tell me not to give up. Said you were coming. So I didn't stop. Because you were coming."

Distantly, Steve was aware of Sam in the background, his hand over his mouth and breathing uneven, Bucky standing beside him and holding his breath, clutching Sam's free hand in his own, squeezing it. But the man at his side took all of Steve's attention, his face so familiar.

Old scars, the faint tan lines of sunglasses, the individual eyelashes and the curve of the lips.

The exact shade of brown that his skin was, the sharp angles of the crafted beard and the softness of the face beneath it.

And Steve could remember.

"Oh Tony," and his voice cracked, "You  _came for me_ ," And he was gone, the man surging up to catch him as Steve collapsed, tears now flowing freely, gasping into Tony's collar, the shirt crumpling as Steve fisted his hands in it, and he was aware of everything.

The flex of the fabric beneath his palms, nearly silken it was worn so thin, one of the old band shirts that Tony wore down to threads.

The soft scrape of Tony's beard against his forehead as he kissed Steve's forehead reverently.

The cold drop that hit Steve's face, tasting of saltwater when it trailed down to wet his lips. It was a tear that was not his own and he pulled himself back so he could see Tony's face with his own eyes, a face he had hallucinated so many times. Tony licked his lips, and attempted to rub his eyes dry but Steve caught his hands, drinking in the sight of Tony.

"Don't you  _ever_ ," Tony choked out, "do that to me again." And he surged forwards, his lips crashing into Steve's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO most of the delay was writers block, and then it was simply no motivation.
> 
> HOWEVER, I now have both a plan and motivation. Sex scenes are coming up, I promise, pairings are still a little in the air but I am leaning towards just Tony/Steve, maybe a little Bucky, but I kind of think he needs some time to just be himself, I don't know, please suggest something to me. Rest of the team will reappear (at some point) but we are definitely more focused on Steve and Tony right now, the actual main characters of this story. But also Bucky is a main character. And kind of Sam. But Clint was maybe going to have a few moments. Now my plan is shattering. Send help. Send suggestions. I'll write whatever you guys want at this point I have the motivation just too many ideas of where this is going.
> 
> Please leave kudos(or a review) or follow the story(and please leave some sort of comment) and maybe, if you are feeling up to it, let me know what you think (please for the love of anything holy). 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it this far, there are actually for real-I'm-not-lying-this-time real updates to come I swear. And I actually mean it this time. It's coming. Soon-ish. 
> 
> If it doesn't then leave a comment along the lines of "update your fucking story you piece of shit" because I get emails and that will remind me to update my fucking story. I'm a piece of shit. But you have read this far so this piece of shit has some sort of reader base. Ha. Joke's on you. We are all pieces of shit together.
> 
> This was really long I bet none of you actually read this whole thing I'm sorry I'm a piece of shit and it is almost four in the morning and I have gone another twenty-four hours without sleeping, I'm so great at this, I love you, but I'm a piece of shit. Okay. I'm so sorry. Bye. I'm ending this now. Alright. Bye. Again. Dang it. I'm a fucking piece of shit.


	16. Super-humanly Possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve continues to recover, Tony wraps up some loose ends, and I get them to where they need to be for the story to progress further. Not nearly as long as the last chapter, sorry, but still necessary. Warning for poor spelling and comma usage. I don't have a beta. Forgive me.

"No, he's coming home now, damn it!" Tony didn't know why the doctor had asked him to come out into the hall, Steve's enhanced hearing could pick up anything they were saying anyways so he didn't bother keeping his voice down. The doctor seemed to ignore Tony's outburst, taking off his glasses and rubbing them methodically with the edge of his coat, inspecting them against the ceiling lights before sliding them back onto his tired, lined face.

"Mr.Stark, although I can appreciate how much anyone would prefer the homey aesthetic that you seek to provide Mr.Rogers with, I'm afraid that I must insist on retaining him for a few weeks longer. To continue monitoring his condition and further analyze his metabolization rates, as well as how the healing factor has been effected in light of the seriousness of his injuries. We also need to monitor the impact his reduced nutrient and calorie intake of the last several weeks has-"

"Hold up House. This isn't about giving Steve a certain aesthetic to recover in. This is about removing him from a hostile environment, and getting him the absolute best care he can have to get him back to one hundred percent as fast as humanly possible," Tony paused, "Super-humanly possible, anyways."

"Ho-, hostile environment? I'm not entirely sure what you mean to imply by that Mr. Stark," The doctor was cleaning his glasses again, rubbing them rather harder than Tony thought he'd ought to rub glass. Tony's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah. Hostile. As in, having to put up with people doing-exactly-what-they-agreed-not-to-do. We have your signature, as well as some others, explicitly stating that you wouldn't take any unnecessary samples from Steve, would not run any tests that could be argued unnecessary, and wouldn't attempt to conceal any test outcomes or retain any information concerning the serum, the serum's results or effects, and any and all information gained or discovered about the serum's recipient, aka  _Steve_ , will be forfeited, nothing will become public or private record, and you will keep mum about the entire thing. And yet, you didn't."

The doctor was frozen, his glasses pinched between the cloth of his lab coat but he made no motion to return them to his face. Tony turn, fully intending to return to Steve's bedside.

"Our resident assassins have already recovered the blood samples you sold to the highest bidder, who has also been tracked down. You've actually led us to an impressively affluent corner of the black market. You'll be taken into custody at the end of the day, or earlier, I suppose, if you try and run. You helpers too, those two nurses, I think? Yeah you'll all get sued for what little you're worth and then put away for life. I've some pretty expensive lawyers, I wouldn't even bother fighting it, if I were you. Ciao."

 

 

Steve looked up when Tony came back in, sucking down yet another protein shake and glancing away from the little roll-in television, Sam sat next to the bed browsing a magazine.

"Thanks," Steve popped off the straw, smiling faintly at Tony, "For dealing with all that, I mean."

"No problem, sweet cheeks. What riveting program have you found to entertain us? Ew, the news. I can't stand how you watch that stuff. My least favorite genre, by far."

"What genre? Reality?" Sam remarked, not looking up from his magazine. Tony humphed at him, settling himself on the bed next to Steve, who obligingly moved over. Tony petulantly ignore Sam and wriggled until he was slouched halfway down the bed and his head was level with Steve's stomach. Tony fiddled with the remote, popping the plastic backing off and clicking the batteries out while Steve sighed and rested his hand in Tony's hair.

"Please don't break the hospital's things, the remote works fine anyways," He scratched Tony's dark hair absently, trying not to watch the destruction of the innocent remote.

"You  _say_  it works fine. I'm only checking." Of course Tony ignored his suggestion, but any improvements to the remote were interrupted by the door opening again, admitting the young doctor who had been assisting in Steve's recovery. The young man looked maybe Mediterranean in origin, but rather pale and looked a little shell shocked.

"Um, Mr.Rogers? You can leave as early as this evening, provided you have a proper treatment plan in place, I have your papers right here," the doctor held them out hesitantly.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked, making Tony look up.

"Yes, yes, I am. Only... I'm so sorry, I'd only just heard about Doctor Morris, I had no idea. I swear I would never have- That is, if I had known I would have done something, told someone, it just never crossed my mind that someone would attempt to..." He trailed off, a little embarrassed, and unsure of himself. Tony, surprisingly, was the first to speak up.

"And that is exactly why  _you_ are not being led away in handcuffs. Say, what was your name again?"

"Baros. Doctor Baros."

"Well,  _Doctor Baros_ , it is exactly because going against the contract you signed never crossed your mind, and because you made no attempt to take advantage of our comatose friend for any personal gain, that you are not only a free man, but a free man with a very prestigious job offer. Or, you will be, I'll have someone send you a job description later, don't worry about it," turning to Steve, Tony continued, "You know, I've been thinking about getting the Avengers a regular medical crew for a while now, there are some former SHIELD surgeons and nurses I like, but I really want to get a few guys from civilian occupancies."

The doctor didn't seem flustered so much as dubious, eyeing Tony as if he believed him to be pulling a prank. He caught Sam's eye, who shrugged, before sighing and handing the papers to Steve, who took them with an apologetic smile, as if to say, 'sorry about this one, what can you do?'. After he left, Steve turned to Tony, his serious face on.

"Uh oh. What did I do muffin? I've been so good while you weren't around to put me in time out."

"Tony," Steve sounded tired of the conversation already, "You can't just spring that sort of thing on people. He's a very nice man, and I'm sure a wonderful doctor, but he's still human. Not everyone can just take something like that and run with it. People aren't programable, you can't just input some data and expect it to all work out. You have to give people time-"

"-and be patient with them, people are not machines and not everyone has JARVIS in their pocket phone Tony," Tony continued Steve's speech flawlessly, imitating his voice deeply and making a rather stupid face in his impression. Steve frowned again.

"I don't talk like that," he said, turning to Sam for confirmation, and felt a little teamed up on when Sam didn't immediately side with him, instead holding his magazine up higher, as if they wouldn't be able to see him if he hid behind it. Tony barked a laugh, bonking Steve with the remote.

They were interrupted from further argument by the door bursting open and three new people bursting in.

"Reinforcements! About time," Sam finally came out from behind his magazine, standing and stretching until his spine popped. "The flirting was starting to make me uncomfortable, you guys came just in time."

Steve spluttered but Thor laughed, his booming voice filling the space. Behind him, Clint and Bucky peeked out, also grinning. Tony rolled his eyes, hauling himself out of Steve's bed before ruffling the soldier's hair.

"They'll be with you until this evening, and you'll be back in the tower by bedtime. The others are still there, I think Pepper is organizing the medical equipment and stuff, we're sticking you on the main floor, is that okay?" Tony was already tapping into his phone, mentally if not yet physically gone from the room. "Mostly we don't want to have to go all the way to your floor to visit you and change your IVs and clean your bedpan and stuff, but also we love you and want you nearby."

"Thanks Tony," Steve sounded tired. Clint caught on, practically pushing Tony out of the room while Thor settled himself in Sam's chair, Bucky taking up Tony's spot.

"You haven't left the hospital in days Tony, who knows when you last showered. Go, get some rest, eat something. We'll be back in a few hours, now get out of here," and Clint finally shut the door behind Sam, almost smacking it in Tony's face. He stared hard at the door for a few moments, as if to make sure Tony didn't try to come back in, before facing the room, meeting Steve's grateful smile.

"I owe you one Clint."

"Whether you like Stark or not, I figure people can only take so much of him before trying to kill him. God bless Pepper for trying, though."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I actually think that I will write more now because the term had started and I am better at writing when i am trying to avoid things. Please comment. If anyone would like to read these chapters slightly before i post them and maybe point out any huge flaws then please message me about possibly being my beta...


	17. whoops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh

Yeah, I'm going to be completely honest with you guys, I got caught up with college and stuff and when I remembered that this existed recently I came back and read through it and I can say with complete confidence that I have no memory of where I planned to go with this fic. So, in apology, I would like to offer to write a number of new fics, now that I feel comfortable enough with my schedule that I can carve out time to write them. Please leave suggestions as to what pairings, kinks, tags, whatever you want as a comment to this chapter. I am willing to do things that are not avengers. Really am sorry about this, but I don't want to restart this one onto a completely different path. You can also contact me on tumblr (monsterofmeg) or just comment here to express your deep disappointment. Thank you.


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